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HISTORICAL 



AND 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES, 



SKETCHES, ANECDOTES, ETC. 



COMPILED BY 

JAMES J. TREACY 






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NEW YORK: 

P. J. KENEDY, 

Excelsior Catholic Publishing House, 

5 BARCLAY STREET, 

1880. 






Copyright, 1880 
P. J. KENEDY. 



K 



s 

i 



TO MAURICE F. EGAN, ESQ, 

IN APPRECIATION OP HIS DISTINGUISHED ABILITIES, 
THIS VOLUME IS KESPECTPULLY DEDICATED, 

BY HIS FRIEND THE COMPILER. 



INTRODUCTION. 



"Haec a quovis alio quam a me, colligi velim; a me, potius quam a nemine." 

The fact that the present volume consists of pieces 
calculated both to instruct and to edify, and which are 
not readily accessible to the general reader, sufficiently 
justifies its publication. 

It must certainly afford the utmost gratification to the 
devout Catholic to find here so many corroborations 
(though of an inferior kind) of the proofs of the divine 
character of his Holy Mother the Church. .Here will be 
found the constancy of the martyrs who generously 
poured out their blood for Christ, and thus served as a 
seed which through God's blessing fructified and pro- 
duced a hundred fold of new Christians. Here the reader 
beholds the Church which had been established in the 
blood of the Son of God amid the gloom and horrors of 
Calvary, and which had been confined in the catacombs, 
emerge like its Divine Founder, from its subterranean 
abode and break upon the world of Constantine in the 
radiance of a glorious resurrection. Also the saints of 
God, those oases in the desert of humanity, who, so admir- 
able in their chastity, their benevolence, and their charity, 



INTRODUCTION. 

have adorned every rank and condition of life, serving 
their Master by succoring the widow and the orphan and 
all on whom misfortune had fallen, they passed along as 
delightful sunshine cheering and consoling all whom 
they met in their blessed progress, despising the dangers 
of the ocean, the horrors of the pestilence, the perils of 
the battle-field, that they might faithfully accomplish 
the grand work of their Divine Lord. 

Here, too, he will see how the most mighty monarchs 
of the earth either bowed down dutifully before the 
Church's authority, or by their rebellion against it 
became the objects of divine vengeance and furnished 
terrific instances of exemplary punishment. 

The infidel philosophers of France who pretended 
forsooth! to he plus sage que les sages — those architects 
of ruin who in their insane career having overturned the 
edifice of social order, and rudely wrenched themselves 
from the holy and sanctified associations of the most 
glorious epoch of their national history, discovered that 
their boasted philosophy was but a pestilential vapor, 
which, although it could not drive God from His creation, 
could in its fatal gloom hide from His presumptuous 
and unbelieving creatures the light and glory of His 
celestial countenance. Here, too, Ireland, the Niobe 
of nations, stands before him in her present deplorable 
condition, and recalls the time when she was the island 
of saints and sages, when Western Europe flew thither 
to kindle at the fires that blazed in her monasteries the 
dying torch of learning. We cannot but regret that 
she is subject to England — to cold, heartless, tyrannical, 
cruel England. The mask of philanthropy, which 
England had so long worn, has been rudely torn away, 



INTRODUCTION. 

and now divested of her disguise she appears in all the 
hideousness of her native cruelty. With a great parade 
of mock benevolence, she would have the world believe 
that she was the patroness — the benefactress of Ireland, 
consoling her in her afflictions, alleviating her suffering, 
and strenuously striving to ameliorate her sad condition; 
while in reality she was wringing from Ireland the capital 
that should afford employment to an industrious people; 
she was cramping her energies, and by a diabolical in- 
genuity producing the terrible results of artificial famine. 
It would not be difficult for a sagacious political 
philosopher, like the illustrious Irishman, Edmund Burke, 
with the data of history before him, to prognosticate the 
tremendous retribution which a just Providence will in- 
evitably inflict on England for her criminal culpability 
in the government of Ireland; nor would it be hard for 
Burke to say when and how the poisoned cup which 
England has so long compelled Ireland to partake of, 
shall be returned at length in a just circulation to her 

own lips. 

" — nations keep a stern account 
Of deeds that tyrants do ; 
And guiltless blood to Heaven will mount, 
And Heaven avenge it, too !" 

Ireland conscious of the hollowness and falsity of Eng- 
lish professions, has turned her back upon her perfidious 
neighbor, and addressed her prayers for succor to the 
large-hearted American nation, who have responded in 
the most munificent fashion, surpassing even their 
characteristic generosity. 

Yes! the country of Washington, the States for whose 
independence the Irish fought against the British 



INTRODUCTION. 

oppressor, lias kindly hearkened to the sorrowful voice 
of Ireland, and tenderly and charitably stretched out her 
great arm over the broad Atlantic to relieve her sister 
in distress. 

May the Almighty bless America! and may the union 
now so happily subsisting between Ireland and America 
become cemented in the bonds of a closer and more 
affectionate connexion; may the hour speedily arrive 
when side by side with the Stars and Stripes of Columbia 
shall be seen the Green Flag of Free Erin proudly flying 
to the breeze of heaven, and may the two nations united 
in feeling become also united in the faith of God, who 
has called His children out of the darkness of unbelief 
into the admirable light of His divine revelation. 

J. J. T. 

Philadelphia, St. Patrick's Bay, 1880. 



CONTENTS. 



PA6B 

The God of Former Days. 7 

St. Ignatius and his Companions 23 

Joan of Arc,— Maid of Orleans 54 

The Holy Land. 59 

The Death of William the Conqueror. ... 62 

The Roman Catholic Church. 66 

The Nightingale's Return 68 

Marshal MacMahon 69 

Decision in Favor of Virtue. 71 

The Genius of Christianity 72 

Charity . ...» 75 

La Harpe's Conversion. . 77 

The Atheist Saying his Beads. 79 

The Funeral Oration of the Prince of Conde. . 80 

The Assumption . . .82 

The Wdje of Marshal de Mouchy. . . 83 

The Seige of Weinsberg. 84 

The Parguinotes. . 85 

The Rosary. 89 

The Destruction of Pagan Rome. . .... 91 

The Reasonings of an American Indian. . . .96 

Pass that to tour Neighbor ... ... 98 

The Discovery of America 100 

Chivalry. 109 

Napoleon's Marshals who Rose from the Ranks. . Ill 

Father Kircher's Globe. 114 

Infidel Philosophy and Literature 115 

O'Connell. 123 

iii 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Ireland in America. 126 

Are There Several true Religions? .... 127 

The Resignaton op Charles V 129 

The Emperor Charles V. Performing his own Funeral 

Service 138 

The Uncertainty op Death 140 

God's Turn will Come 146 

The Convent Dog. . . . , . . . 147 

Michael Angelo and his Enemdes 149 

Ireland in the Ages of Faith 150 

The Fall and Disasters op the Jews 152 

Testing the Musical Powers of Carolan. . . . 156 
The Irish National 'Hymn for St. Patrick's Day. . 158 

Extract from an Oration 160 

To Maurice F. Egan. 163 

The Penal Days 164 

Character of Washington 165 

King Richard and the Minstrel 167 

The Studious Monks of the Middle Ages. . . . 149 
The Affection and Reverence due to a Mother. . 170 

Our Lady of Sorrow .171 

Her Rosary of Wells 173 

Marriage. . 174 

When Night Comes on 177 

Good-Night. . 178 

There is Always Light in Heaven 179 

The two Weeping Willows 179 

The Blind Martyr 181 

Religious Orders 193 

The Glorious Retraction of Fenelon. . . . 195 

The Patron of the Poor. 197 

Mater Inviolata 199 

There is Hope for Erin. 199 

Ode to St. Isidore 201 

The World . 202 

Napoleon's Statue 203 

Respect for Fenelon 204 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Candid Culprit. . 205 

The Most Ancient of Mausoleums 206 

The Wonders of God in the Moral Order. . . . 207 
Forgiveness of Injuries. . . . . . .211 

A Hymn to the Queen of May 214 

The Wonders of the Chisel 216 

Sending Belief to Ireland 216 

Phillips's Account of Curran 217 

Sir Thomas More 219 

Triumphal Entry of Constantine into Home. . . 220 

The Face of Christ. 226 

Partridge, the Almanac-Maker 227 

Monks of St. Bernard 228 

Sunday. 231 

Eulogium on Communion. 233 

Filial Piety 235 

The Emperor Nicholas and Mr. O'Connell. . . . 238 

Vienna Saved by the Poles 239 

Antiquity of Fasting 240 

The Broken Heart 245 

Napoleon Turned Catechist. . . . . . 249 

La Fayette and Marie Antoinette 250 

Death of Marle Antoinette 252 

The Battle of Dundalk. 254 

The Miller's Portrait . 255 

How they Kept the Bridge at Athlone. . . . 256 
Songs of our Land. . . 259 

The Charmed Serpent 261 

Two Views of Nature 263 

Rebuilding of the Temple 268 

A Beautiful Idea 270 

Beautiful Swiss Custom 271 

The Bell is the Voice of God ...... 272 

Letter to the Marquis Wellesley 273 

Surrender of Grenada 274 

Miss Nano Nagle 279 

Last Hours of Mary Queen of Scots . . , .286 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Sister op Charity ....,.;... 801 

Old Ireland. . . 304 

The Mother of the Kings 305 

The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus 310 

Lament of the Irish Mother . . . . . . 313 

The Keligiotjs History of England 316 

The Homeward Bound 332 

The Disabled Soldier 334 

The Battle of Lepanto . 342 

Declaration of Irish Eights 349 

The Wife 352 

The Cross in the Wilderness 354 

The Enchanted Island 358 

The Apparitions at Knock 360 

Old Cathedrals and Abbeys, * ... 371 

Influence of Catholicity on Civil uberty. . . .377 



HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL 
STORIES, SKETCHES, ANECDOTES, ETC. 



THE GOD OF FORMER TIMES. 



A CAPTIVE POPE. 

In the year 1813 a page, richly dressed, stood 
in an apartment in the Imperial Castle of Fon- 
tainebleau. He was a handsome youth of about 
fifteen years of age, a descendant of the old 
Counts de Rettrel. He was in the service of 
Napoleon I., and thus often had the honor of 
approaching the master of the world. 

But the countenance of the young man is 
shaded by an expression of pity and sadness. 
Tears are in his eyes, but by no word or move- 
ment does he betray the agitation of his heart. 

He remains upright and immovable as a sol- 
dier of the old guard. 

7 



8 A CAPTIVE POPE. 

His sorrow is evidently caused by the fate of 
a venerable old man who is resting in an arm- 
chair in the next room, for Joseph de Eettrel 
keeps his eyes continually directed to the half- 
opened door. 

This old man wears a white cassock, and car- 
ries no external signs of dignity ; his dress even 
looks poor in the sumptuous imperial apartment. 
His noble features bear the traces of deep sorrow, 
his face is pale and thin ; grief has furrowed his 
cheeks and sunk his eyes ; but a sweet serenity 
overspreads his face, and it is the holy resigna- 
tion of this martyr which touches the heart of 
the susceptible Joseph. 

The old man seems to be in prayer ; his clasped 
hands rest upon his breast, his head is slightly 
bent : and from the occasional illumination of 
his countenance he evidently feels the presence 
of the Most High. 

To the young page the apartment became a 
sacred place ; he was filled with respectful admir- 
ation, and he looked with a holy amazement at the 
Head of the Church, the Vicar of Jesus Christ ; 
for this old man is Pope Pius VII. who has for 
four years been the prisoner of Napoleon I. 

Suddenly the sound of arms is heard ; the 
noise approaches; a door opens; short steps 
glide over the carpet ; and a man, in the brilliant 
uniform of a Marshal of France, enters the room, 
but stops at the sight of the Pope in prayer. 



A CAPTIVE POPE. 9 

This man is of low stature, his head is covered 
with black hair, his complexion is bronzed by the 
sun ; his features are fine and regular, his chin 
projects — that mark of an iron will. 

There is about him a look of singular power — 
imperious and penetrating ; in a word, the look 
of the conqueror of Europe, Napoleon I. 

After a rapid glance, Napoleon walked up to 
his august prisoner. Pius YII. raised his vener- 
able head, and viewed his oppressor with a smile. 
The page had placed a chair for the Emperor. 

" Pardon me, Holy Father, if I disturb your 
pious meditations," said Bonaparte, with a slight 
inclination of the head, "but the matter presses. 
There must be peace between the Emperor and the 
Pope. Do you find upon reflection that my pro- 
posal of yesterday is in accordance with your in- 
terests?" 

" With my personal interests, quite; but not 
with the duties of the Pope," replied Pius VII. 
" You put an end to the hard captivity I have 
endured for four years ; you secure to the Pope 
an annual income of two millions of francs. 
Very well ! But you do not restore the patri- 
mony of St. Peter : you retain Rome ; you retain 
all the States of the Church. I cannot consent to 
this spoliation. When Providence called me, in 
spite of my indignity, to become the Vicar of 
Jesus Christ upon earth, I took the oath taken by 
all Popes, that I would never consent to the spoli- 



10 A CAPTIVE POPE. 

ation of the patrimony of St. Peter. I had rather 
die in captivity than break my oath and burden 
my conscience with such a crime !" 

" And I," replied the Emperor, haughtily, "I 
will never restore what I have conquered by force 
of arms. You ought not to be ungrateful," he 
continued, in a reproachful tone. " The Revolu- 
tion destroyed religion in France, the priests were 
driven away, or guillotined, the bishops' sees 
were abolished, the churches were devastated. I 
have restored all. Dioceses again have their 
bishops, parishes their clergy. The Church owes 
her restoration in France to me alone, and it is to 
me, the saviour and protector of religion, that 
the Pope now refuses his confidence. Such con- 
duct is imprudent, ungrateful," added the all- 
powerful monarch, with a threatening look. 

The august prisoner looked calmly at the piti- 
less soldier, then, while a gentle light shone from 
his eyes, 

" God only considers the intention, sire," he 
said, with grave dignity. "If it is for the love 
of truth and in obedience to the Almighty that 
you have re-established religion in France, the 
Lord will reward you. If you have carried out 
the designs of Providence without intending it, 
and of your own will, the Eternal owes you noth- 
ing." 

"The language of your Holiness is not clear. 
May I ask you to be more precise." 



A CAPTIVE POPE. 11 

" My frankness will wound your Majesty," re- 
plied Pius, "but you have a right to ask for truth 
from the Pope ; and it is the duty of the Vicar 
of Christ, even when in chains and threatened 
with death, to fulfil his noble mission, which is to 
save souls and proclaim the truth." 

He was silent for a few minutes. He was evi- 
dently seeking for the form in which he could 
best speak the truth to the proud and often pas- 
sionate Emperor. 

Napoleon impatiently beat with his fingers the 
arms of the chair in which he sat. His eyes were 
fixed on the timid old man. 

The page in the ante-room listened with deep 
interest to a dialogue which remained deeply 
graven on his memory. 

' 'Your Holiness feels, however, some repug- 
nance to communicating this precious truth to 
the Emperor," Napoleon exclaimed at last, in an 
impatient manner. 

"Here it is in a few words," replied the Pope. 
"Your Majesty is not ignorant of the causes of 
the Revolution, which has covered France with 
ruin. Things have but followed their natural 
course. For ninety years, an infidel philosophy, 
combined with atheistic science and a bad press, 
for the overthrow of social order. Religion was 
laughed at and given up to ridicule, and soon the 
seeds which had been sown in the hearts of the 
people began to produce fruit. The corruption 



12 A CAPTIVE POPE. 

of morals, which began in the upper classes, de- 
scended to the lower. When France had thus 
turned away from Him who is the Master of 
Right, when she ceased to acknowledge God, the 
most terrible of Revolutions broke out. Order 
disappeared, the most horrible crimes were com- 
mitted, neither life, property, nor honor were 
respected, all became the prey of beings unworthy 
of the name of men. Then your Majesty appeared, 
richly endowed by God with strength and intel- 
lect. You restored order ; and because, sire, you 
acknowledge that religion is the foundation of 
order, that without submission to the Divine Will 
a social constitution cannot be maintained — you 
have recalled the priests from exile, and caused 
the Gospel of salvation to be again preached to 
degenerate France. Your Majesty employed a 
really prudent policy when you re-established the 
Church in France as the basis of a social order." 
"Now I understand your Holiness," cried the 
Emperor, smiling. " My conduct was merely in- 
spired by political calculations, apart from any 
religious considerations. I am not to expect any 
reward from heaven because I have acted not for 
God, but only for the Emperor. Yes," continued 
Napoleon, in a serious tone, "there must be a 
religion ; to govern a people without religion is 
absolutely impossible. I will never permit Chris- 
tian morals to be publicly outraged, and no wise 
statesman will ever permit it. He who allows the 



A CAPTIVE POPE. 13 

Christian convictions of a people to be under- 
mined, will one day see the social edifice fall 
upon his head. Why then does your Holiness 
hesitate to conclude an alliance with the protec- 
tor of religion?" 

" Because you exact from the Pope an act 
against religion at the very moment when you 
profess to be its protector," replied the Pope. 

"I cannot take your view," said Napoleon. 
"The temporal sovereignty of the Pope is not an 
article of faith. On the contrary, it seems to me 
an obstacle to his completely fulfilling his spirit- 
ual mission. Renounce this sovereignty. Live 
free from all the cares of government under the 
protecting wings of the imperial Eagle." 

"Free in the talons of an eagle, sire?" said 
the prisoner, with a mournful smile. " To fulfil 
all his duties the Head of the Church must be 
independent. The Pope cannot be the subject of 
any monarch who might abuse his superiority and 
make use of the dependence of the Yicar of 
Christ for his own political purposes. Therefore 
did it please Providence to found the States of the 
Church." 

"It is really singular," said Bonaparte, a 
slight irony in his tone, "all the princes of 
Europe obey a sign of my will ; every nation 
bows before my victorious arms, and an old man, 
my prisoner, is the only person who rejects my 
friendship." 



14 A CAPTIVE POPE. 

"Sire, pardon me. I, your old prisoner, conld 
but be nattered by the friendship of the Emperor; 
but the Pope is forced to tell you that what you 
ask is unjust, and doubly unjust because yon 
exact that he who is the supreme guardian of 
Christian faith and morals should approve and 
confirm your spoliation.'' 

"Splendid! admirable!" said the angry mon- 
arch. " The Vicar of Christ alone would permit 
himself thus to insult the Emperor to his face." 

"I am truly grieved, Sire, that you look upon 
what is simply the truth as an insult." 

"Better and better!" cried the master of 
Europe rising from his chair in great wrath. 
"We will leave this matter alone. You disdain 
my friendship — you shall feel my enmity." 

"Sire," replied the Pope, with resignation, "I 
place your threats at the foot of the Crucifix, and 
I leave it to God to avenge my cause, for it is 
His." 

"Chimeras!" replied the Emperor, with an air 
of contempt. "The God, whose cause you de- 
fend, is only a monstrous product of superstition 
and dreams." 

" Stop, Sire," interrupted the Pope raising his 
hand, " the God of former time still is." 

" What do you mean by that V 9 

"He who has said ' the heaven is my throne, 
and the earth my footstool,' is here present. He 
hears your blasphemies." 



A CAPTIVE POPE. 15 

"No sermons ! Monsieur le Pape," cried 
Napoleon. "What do you mean by those 
words, ' the God of former days still is V Is it a 
threat?'' 

"Yes, a paternal warning, prompted by affec- 
tion." 

"You, no doubt, mean by that that the God of 
former times may execute the sentence of excom- 
munication which your Holiness has launched 
against me." 

"The sentence was pronounced according to 
the canons of the Church, against Napoleon Bona- 
parte, the Emperor of the French, a spoiler of the 
Holy See. Before God, Sire, all men are equal ; 
princes, like others, are bound to observe the 
divine laws." 

Napoleon laughed in a s fcrange way. He walked 
up and down the room with his sword clanking. 
"Ah! to say that — to me— the Yicar of Christ 
takes a liberty." 

' ' Performs a duty, ' ' replied the Pope. ' ' Who 
is to remind the great ones of the earth of their 
duty, if it is not the Pope?" 

"Enough! enough!" cried Bonaparte, "you 
mistake the century ; we are no longer in the mid- 
dle ages." 

He walked up and down the room ; he was 
greatly troubled. 

"'The God of former times still is,' did you 
say ? What do you hope from this old divinity." 



16 A CAPTIVE POPE. 

" I know that this faithful and almighty God 
keeps His promises." 

u And what has this faithful and almighty God 
promised you?" asked the Emperor ironically. 

" He has promised to His Church to protect 
her against all her enemies, and to maintain her 
till the end of time." 

"These are great promises. We shall sec. 
Well, as for me, I am not satisfied either with the 
Pope or with the Church, or with this God of 
former times. Perhaps I shall found of my own 
private authority a State Religion, which shall 
not have the Vicar of Christ for its head, but the 
Emperor." 

" You exaggerate your power, Sire." 

" I am all-powerful in Europe," cried the con- 
queror of nations, with pride. "It is only the 
obstinacy of one old man, who calls himself the 
Vicar of Christ, that I cannot overcome. Very 
well, let him die inflexible, in captivity." 

The Pope rose with a threatening look. A holy 
indignation animated his venerable features. 
" Sire, permit me to unfold some pages of history, 
and exhibit to you the power which will subdue 
you." 

The Emperor was struck at the sight of the old 
man, who stood before him like a prophet of the 
ancient law. His eyes were cast on the ground. 

" Speak, I hear you," he said. 

" You threaten that the Pope will die in captiv- 



A CAPTIVE POPE. 17 

ity, that you will persecute, annihilate the Church, 
that you will substitute a State religion more 
docile to your will. What you desire, monarchs 
more powerful than you are have attempted in 
vain. What did the emperors of Rome effect by 
their persecutions, by the immolation of twelve 
millions of martyrs? Exactly the contrary of 
what they intended. Persecution was merely a 
hurricane which carried the seed of the divine 
word into the most distant countries, and the blood 
of the martyrs created more Christians. Whence 
arose this strange phenomenon ? Simply from 
this ; that the same God of former times, of whom 
your Majesty makes a mock, kept the word He has 
given to His Church to defend her against the pow- 
ers of hell. The Roman Emperors have perished, 
but the Church still stands. Turn over some later 
pages of history. Even in the middle ages more 
than one emperor raised his powerful hand against 
the Pope ; the Church and her head were subjected 
to terrible attacks. But the arm of God pro- 
tected the Church and destroyed her enemies. You 
yourself dragged my predecessor, Pius V., into 
captivity, and suffered him to die in prison. You 
have kept me in prison for four years, I have had 
to endure sufferings impossible to describe. And 
yet I live — yet I live to see how the hand of this 
God of former times will destroy you. Your 
measure is full, soon you will share the fate of all 
the persecutors of the Church." 



18 A CAPTIVE POPE. 

The Pope sank exhausted into his chair. The 
Emperor stood before him, his arms folded, and 
contemplating the august old man with a savage 
look. 

The page in the ante- room trembled in every 
limb. The Holy Father was in his eyes as an ap- 
parition from a superior world, and Napoleon, 
with his terrible and sinister look, as a genius 
come forth from the abyss. 

"This is priestly arrogance carried to the far- 
thest limits," said the master of Europe, in anger. 
" The God of former times strikes only fools ; He 
has no power over a Caesar. It is you, Monsieur 
lePape, who will be crushed under my wrath. ' 

He turned and left the room in a rage. 

The night after this conversation, Napoleon 
could get no rest. He walked incessantly up and 
down his room, murmuring unintelligible words. 
But the page who watched at his door could over- 
hear these exclamations : 

"The God of former times destroy me ! Me? 
Oh ! I defy the God of former times. I defy the 
history of the past." 

Two years after this the Emperor Napoleon, 
once the master of the world, was himself a pris- 
oner in St. Helena. This is a desert and inhospita- 
ble isle. The shade of a wood is not to be found, 
and only here and there do cultivated spots occur. 
Rocks of volcanic origin rise on every side. It is 
a horrible prison in the midst of the ocean. 



A CAPTIVE POPE. 19 

Near tne sea there is a weeping willow whose 
drooping branches afford shade to the august 
prisoner. Here he would be seated for hours look- 
ing out over the boundless ocean. 

To-day he is more gloomy than usual. Gene- 
ral Bertrand, the only friend who voluntarily 
shares his master's exile, and the young Count- 
page observed uneasily the sadness of the de- 
throned monarch. 

All at once the Emperor raised his eyes to the 
young man — 

" Joseph, were you not at the castle of 
Fontainebleau when Pius VII. predicted my 
destiny?" 

"Yes, Sire, I was." 

" Do you remember the interview?" 

" Yes, Sire; I can never forget it. The Pope 
in my eyes was not a mere mortal " 

"But?" 

"The representative of God upon earth." 

"Well said, young man. What, at that time, 
made me smile, at present appears only too de- 
serving of faith — the representative of God upon 
earth." 

The Emperor was silent, and his eyes again 
wandered over the sea. 

"And do you recollect the words of the Pope ?" 

"Perfectly, Sire. The Holy Father said:— 
'The God of former times still is,' then he re- 
ferred to history, to show that both Christian 



120 A CAPTIVE POPE. 

and pagan princes had persecuted the Church and 
;the Popes, but that God had destroyed these 
persecutors, while the Church and the See of 
Peter continued." 

"AncL then, Joseph — and then " said 

Napoleon, as the young man stopped, undecided 
how to proceed. 

" He said that God would destroy your Majesty 
if you did not cease to oppress the Church, be- 
cause God has promised to defend His Church 
■ and His representative on earth, and He is faith- 
ful to His promises." 

" Just so!" and the Emperor assented to the ex- 
actness of this recital by a movement of the head, 

"'Your measure is filled,' said Pius VII. , 
c soon you will share the fate of all persecutors of 
rthe Church.' " 

" The Pope was not a false prophet; my sceptre 
was broken by the All-Powerful, not by man. 
Madman that I was! Dazzled by the splendor of 
my success. The history of eighteen centuries 
ought to have taught me clearly that no power 
fcan attack the Rock of Peter without being 
■broken on it. It is true; the God of former times 
still is, to crush the oppressors of him who repre- 
sents Him below. 

" I do not dispute, Sire," said Bertrand "that 
the unusual rigor of the winter, which surprised 
us in Russia, was the immediate order of God, 
but all was decided at Leipzig." 



A CAPT1 VE POPE. 21 

"God is the arbiter of battles, General," said 
Napoleon firmly. "This solitude gives me time 
for reflection. Misfortune has made me more 
clear-sighted. My defeats, my fall, my captivity, 
are all the consequences of my enmity against the 
Head of the Church. Pius VII. is right; it is 
the Almighty, the Protector of the See of Peter, 
who has overturned my throne." 

Bertrand was silent, and the Emperor returned 
to his gloomy thoughts. 

After a long silence: "In Egypt I proclaimed a 
God without a Son," he said; " now, I attest the 
Divinity of Jesus Christ. A Jew, who was looked 
on as the son of a carpenter, gives Himself out 
as God, as the greatest of Beings, the Creator of 
all things. He proves His Divinity by numerous 
miracles. But, in my eyes, the success of Jesus 
Christ proves His Divinity more than His mira- 
cles. What were the conquests of Alexander 
the Great compared with those of Christ ? Noth- 
ing, absolutely nothing, even if Alexander had 
conquered the world, for his conquests endured 
not; they passed away. Jesus, on the contrary, 
conquered, and has attached to Himself, not a 
nation, but the whole human race. These con- 
quests have been extended for eighteen hundred 
years, and to all appearance will continue to ex- 
tend till the end of the world. And what part of 
a man is it that Jesus Christ conquers ? It is the 
part that it is the most difficult to gain — the 



22 A CAPTIVE POPE. 

heart : what is often asked for in vain by the wise 
man of a small number of friends, by the father 
of his children, by the husband of his wife, by the 
brother of his brother — the heart, the affections, 
this is what Jesus has been gaining for eighteen 
hundred years from millions of men. Is not this 
a wonder above wonders ? Alexander, Caesar, 
Hannibal, with all their genius, have gained noth- 
ing like it. They conquered all the world, but 
they did not succeed in gaining hearts. But the 
hearts of millions of men have belonged to Christ 
for eighteen hundred years ; millions of men have 
suffered martyrdom for Him ; millions of men 
accept His yoke with pleasure, and for His sake 
bear the hardest privations. By this, the greatest 
of His miracles, we are constrained to acknowl- 
edge the Divine Word, the Creator of the world. 
" You know, General," continued Napoleon, 
" I have been able to inspire multitudes to die for 
me, but for this, my presence, the electricity of 
my look, my voice, were required ; I do not pos- 
sess the secret of perpetuating my name and 
affection in the heart. Here I am at St. Helena. 
Where are my courtiers ? Where are my friends ? 
Two or three only, whose fidelity will immortalize 
them, share my exile. Soon my body will return 
to earth, and become a prey to worms. What a 
gulf between this misery and the eternal reign of 
Christ, preached, loved, adored, throughout the 
world. He has lived in thousands of hearts, 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 23 

through thousands of years. That is not death : 
it is life. The reign of Christ unanswerably 
proves His divinity, and if Jesus Christ is God, 
the work which He has founded — His Church — is 
divine. His Almighty arm will protect her, and 
no power of hell will prevail against her. Oh, 
that I could cry to all those who have received 
power on the earth, * Respect the representative of 
Jesus Christ ; do not attack, nor oppress the Pope, 
or you will be crushed by the avenging hand of 
God, who protects the See of St. Peter.' " 

Napoleon was silent. A gust of wind bent the 
willow, and the ocean's waves, striking the rock, 
seemed to break forth into sounds of approbation 
at the words of the Emperor. 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND HIS COM- 
PANIONS. 

On the dawn of the day on which, in the year 
1534, the Church of Rome celebrated the feast 
of the Assumption of Our Blessed Lady, a little 
company of men, whose vestments bespoke their 
religious character, emerged in solemn procession 
from the deep shadows cast by the towers of 
Notre Dame over the silent city below them. In 
a silence not less profound, except when broken 



24 ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

by the chant of the matins appropriate to that 
sacred season, they climbed the Hill of Martyrs, 
and descended into the Crypt, which then ascer- 
taiDed the spot where the Apostle of France had 
won the crown of Martyrdom. With a stately 
though halting gait, as one accustomed to military 
command, marched at their head a man of bronzed 
complexion, bald-headed, and of middle stature, 
who had passed the meridian of life ; his deep-set 
eyes glowing as with a perennial fire from beneath 
brows which, had phrenology then been born, 
she might have portrayed in her loftiest style, 
but which without her aid, announced a com- 
mission from on high to subjugate and to rule man- 
kind. So majestic, indeed, was the aspect of Ig- 
natius Loyola, that during the sixteenth century 
few if any of the books of his order appeared with- 
out the impress of that imperial countenance. Be- 
side him in the chapel of St. Denys knelt another 
worshipper, whose manly bearing, buoyant step, 
clear blue eye, and finely-chiselled features, con- 
trasted strangely with the solemnities in which 
he was engaged. Then in early manhood, Fran- 
cis Xavier united in his person the dignity befitting 
his birth as a grandee of Spain, and the grace 
which should adorn a page of the Queen of Cas- 
tile and Arragon. Not less incongruous with 
the scene in which they bore their parts, were 
the slight forms of the boy Alphonso Salmeron, 
and of his bosom friend, Jago Laynez, the destined 



ST. IGNA Tim LO TOLA AND COMPANIONS. 25 

successor of Ignatius in his spiritual dynasty. 
With them Nicholas Alphonso Bobadilla, and 
Simon Rodriguez — the first a teacher, the second 
a student of philosophy — prostrated themselves 
before the altar, where ministered Peter Faber, 
once a shepherd in the mountains of Savoy, but 
now a priest in holy orders. By his hands was 
distributed to his associates the seeming bread, 
over which he had uttered words of more than 
miraculous efficacy ; and then were lifted up their 
united voices, uttering, in low but distinct articu- 
lation, a vow, at the deep significance of which 
the nations might have well rejoiced. Never did 
human lips pronounce a vow more religiously 
observed, or pregnant with results more mo- 
mentous. 

Descended from an illustrious family, Ignatius 
had in his youth been a courtier and a cavalier, 
and if not a poet, at least a cultivator of poetry. 
At the siege of Pampeluna his leg was broken. 
Books of knight-errantry relieved the lassitude of 
sickness, and when these were exhausted, he be- 
took himself to pious books. In the lives of the 
Saints the disabled soldier discovered a new field 
of emulation and of glory. Compared with their 
self -con quest and their high rewards, the achieve- 
ments and the renown of Roland and of Amadis 
waxed dim. Compared with the peerless damsels 
for whose smiles Paladins had fought and died, 
how transcendently glorious the image of feminine 



26 ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

loveliness and angelic purity which had irradiated 
the hermit's cell and the path of the wayworn 
pilgrims! Far as the heavens are above the earth 
would be the plighted fealty of the knight of the 
Virgin Mother beyond the noblest devotion of 
mere human chivalry. Nor were these vows 
unheeded by her to whom they were addressed. 
Environed in light, and clasping her infant to her 
bosom, she revealed herself to the adoring gaze of 
her champion. He rose, suspended at her shrine 
his secular weapons, performed there his nocturnal 
vigils, and; with returning day retired to con- 
secrate his future life to the glory of the Virgo 
Deipara. 

Standing on the steps of a Dominican church, 
he recited the office of Our Lady, when suddenly 
heaven itself was laid open to the eye of the 
worshipper. That ineffable mystery, which the 
author of the Athanasian creed has so beautifully 
enunciated in words, was disclosed to him as an 
object not of faith but of actual sight. The 
past ages of the world were rolled back in his 
presence, and he beheld the material fabric of 
4things rising into being, and perceived the mo- 
tives which had prompted the exercise of the 
creative energy. To his spiritualized sense was 
disclosed the actual process by which the Host 
is transubstantiated; and the other Christian 
verities which it is permitted to common men to 
receive but as exercises of their belief, now be- 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 27 

came to him the objects of immediate inspection 
and of direct consciousness. For eight successive 
days his body reposed in an unbroken trance; 
while his spirit thus imbibed disclosures for 
which the tongues of men have no appropriate 
language. 

On his restoration to human society, Ignatius 
reappeared in the garb, and addressed himself to 
the occupations of other religious men. The first 
fruits of his labors was the book of Spiritual Ex- 
ercises. It was originally written in Spanish, 
and appeared in a Latin version. By the order 
of the present Pope, Loyola's manuscript, still 
remaining in the Vatican, has been again trans- 
lated. In this new form the book is commended to 
the devout study of the faithful by a bull of Pope 
Paul III., and by an Encyclical Epistle from the 
present General of the Order of Jesus. 

From the publication of the "Spiritual Exer- 
cises" to the vow of Montmartre, nine years 
elapsed. They wore away in pilgrimages, in the 
working of miracles, and in escapes all but mir- 
aculous, from dangers which the martial spirit of 
the saint, no less than his piety, impelled him to 
incur. In the caverns of Manresa he had vowed 
to scale the heights of "perfection" and it there- 
fore behooved him thus to climb that obstinate 
eminence, in the path already trodden by all the 
canonized and beatified heroes of the Church. But 
he had also vowed to conduct his fellow-pilgrims 



28 ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

from the city of destruction to the land of Beulah. 
In prison and in shipwreck, fainting with hunger 
or wasted with disease, his inflexible spirit still 
meditated over that bright, though as yet shape- 
less vision ; until at length it assumed a coherent 
form as he knelt on the Mount of Olives, and 
traced the last indelible foot- print of the ascend- 
ing Redeemer of mankind. At that hallowed 
spot had ended the weary way of Him who had 
bowed the heavens, and came down to execute on 
earth a mission of unutterable and matchless self- 
denial ; and there was revealed to the prophetic 
gaze of the future founder of the Order of Jesus, 
the long line of missionaries who, animated by his 
example and guided by his instructions, should 
proclaim that holy Name from the rising to the 
setting sun. At the mature age of thirty, possess- 
ing no language but his own, no science but thai? 
of the camp, and no literature beyond the biogra- 
phies of Saints, he became the self-destined 
teacher of the future teachers of the world. 
Hoping against hope, he returned to Barcelona, 
and there, as the class-fellow of little children, 
commenced the study of the first rudiments of 
the Latin tongue. 

Of the seven decades of human life, the bright- 
est and the best, in which other men achieve or 
contend for distinction, was devoted by Ignatius 
to the studies preparatory to his great undertak- 
ing. Grave professors examined him on the 1 "* 



ST IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 29 

prselections, and, when these were over, ne 
sought the means of subsistence by traversing 
the Netherlands and England as a beggar. Un- 
heeded and despised as he sat at the feet of the 
learned, or solicited alms of the rich, he was 
still maturing in the recesses of his bosom designs 
more lofty than the highest to which the monarchs 
of the houses of Valois or of Tudor had ever dared 
to aspire. In the University of Paris he at length 
found the means of carrying into effect the 
cherished purposes of so many years. It was the 
heroic age of Spain, and the countrymen of 
Gon salvo and Cortes lent a willing ear to counsels 
of daring on any field of adventure, whether sec- 
ular or spiritual. His companions in study thus 
became his disciples in religion. Nor were his 
the commonplace methods of making converts. 
To the contemplative and the timid, he enjoined 
hardy exercises of active virtue. To the gay and 
ardent, he appeared in a spirit still more buoy- 
ant than their own. To a debauchee, whom noth- 
ing else could move, he presented himself neck- 
deep in a pool of frozen water, to teach the more 
impressively the duty of subduing the carnal 
appetites. Nay, he even engaged at billiards with 
a joyous lover of the game, on condition that the 
defeated player should serve his antagonist for a 
month ; and the victorious saint enforced the 
penalty by consigning his adversary to a month 
of secluded devotion. Others yielded at once 



30 ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

and without a struggle to the united influence of 
his sanctity and genius ; and it is remarkable 
that, from these more docile converts, he selected, 
with but two exceptions, the original members of 
his infant order. Having performed the initiatory 
rite of the Spiritual Exercises, they all made a 
vow on the consecrated Host in the Crypt of St. 
Denys, to accompany their spiritual father on a 
mission to Palestine ; or, if that should be im- 
practicable, to submit themselves to the Vicar of 
Christ, to be disposed of as missionaries at his 
pleasure. 

It was in the year 1506 that Francis Xavier, the 
youngest child of a numerous family, was born 
in the castle of his ancestors, in the Pyrenees. 
Robust and active, of a gay humor and ardent 
spirit, the young mountaineer listened with a 
throbbing heart to the military legends of his 
house, and to the inward voice which spoke of 
days to come, when his illustrious lineage should 
derive new splendor from his own achievements. 
But the hearts of his parents yearned over the 
son of their old age ; and the enthusiasm which 
would have borne him to the pursuit of glory in 
the camp, was diverted by their counsels to the 
less hazardous contest for literary eminence at 
the University of Paris. From the embrace of 
Aristotle and his commentators, he would, how- 
ever, have been prematurely withdrawn by the 
failure of his resources (for the Lords of Xavier were 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 31 

not wealthy), if a domestic prophetess, his elder 
sister, had not been inspired to reveal his mar- 
vellous career and immortal recompense. For a 
child destined to have altars raised to his name 
throughout the Catholic Church, and Masses 
chanted in his honor till time should be no longer, 
every sacrifice was wisely made ; and he was thus 
enabled to struggle on at the College of St. 
Barbara, till he had become qualified to earn his 
own maintenance as a public teacher of philos- 
ophy. His chair was crowded by the studious, 
and his society courted by the gay, the noble, and 
the rich. It was courted, also, by one who stood 
aloof from the throDging multitude ; among them, 
but not of them. Miserable in dress, but of lofty 
bearing, at once unimpassioned and intensely 
earnest, abstemious of speech, yet occasionally 
uttering, in deep and most melodious tones, 
words of strange significance, Ignatius Loyola 
was gradually working over the mind of his 
young companion a spell which no difference of 
tastes, of habits, or of age, was of power to subdue. 
Potent as it was, the charm was long resisted. 
Hilarity was the native and indispensable 
element of Francis Xavier, and in his grave 
monitor he found an exhaustless topic of mirth 
and raillery. Armed with satire, which was not 
always playful, the light heart of youth con- 
tended, as best it might, against the solemn im- 
pressions which he could neither welcome nor 



32 ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

avoid. Whether he partook of the frivolities in 
which he delighted, or in the disquisitions in 
which he excelled, or traced the windings of the 
Seine through the forest which then lined its 
banks, Ignatius was still at hand to discuss with 
him the charms of society, of learning, or of 
nature ; but, whatever had been the theme, it was 
still closed by the same awful inquiry, "What 
shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world 
and lose his own soul V ' The world which Xavier 
had sought to gain, was indeed already exhibiting 
to him its accustomed treachery. It had given 
him amusements and applause ; but with his 
self-government had stolen from him his pupils 
and his emoluments. Ignatius recruited both. 
He became the eulogist of the genius and the elo- 
quence of his friend, and, as he presented to him 
the scholars attracted by these panegyrics, would 
repeat them in the presence of the delighted 
teacher ; and then, as his kindling eye attested 
the sense of conscious and acknowledged merit, 
would check the rising exultation by the ever- 
recurring question, "What shall it profit?" 
Improvidence squandered these new resources ; 
but nothing could damp the zeal of Ignatius. 
There he was again, though himself the poorest 
of the poor, ministering to the wants of Xavier, 
from a purse filled by the alms he had solicit- 
ed ; but there again was also the same unvarying 
demand, urged in the same rich though solemn 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 33 

cadence, " What shall it profit f In the unre- 
laxing grasp of the strong man — at once forgiven 
and assisted, rebuked and beloved by his stern 
associate— Xavier gradually yielded to the fas- 
cination. He became, like his master, impassive 
to all sublunary pains and pleasures; and having 
performed the initiatory rite of the Spiritual Ex- 
ercises, excelled all his brethren of the Society of 
Jesus in the fervor of his devotion and the 
austerity of his self- discipline. 

John III. of Portugal, resolving to plant the 
Christian faith on the Indian territories which had 
become subject to the dominion or influence of 
his crown, petitioned the Pope to select some fit 
leader in this peaceful crusade. On the advice 
of Ignatius, the choice of the Holy Father fell on 
Francis Xavier. A happier selection could not 
have been made, nor was a summons to toil, to 
suffering, and to death, ever so joyously received. 

As the vessel in which Xavier embarked for 
India fell down the Tagus and shook out her reefs 
to the wind, many an eye was dimmed with un- 
wonted tears; for she bore a regiment of a 
thousand men to re-inforce the garrison of Goa; 
nor could the bravest of that gallant host gaze on 
the receding land without foreboding that he 
might never see again those dark chestnut forests 
and rich orange groves, with the peaceful convents 
and the long-loved homes reposing in their bosom. 
The countenance of Xavier alone beamed with 



34 ST. IGNA TIUS LO TOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

delight. He knew that he should never tread 
his native mountains more; but he was not 
an exile. He was to depend for food and rai- 
ment on the bounty of his fellow-passengers; but 
no thought for the morrow troubled him. He 
was going to concert nations, of which he knew 
neither the language nor even the names; but he 
felt no misgivings. Worn by incessant sea-sick- 
ness, with the refuse food of the lowest seamen 
for his diet, and the cordage of the ship for his 
couch, he rendered to the diseased services too 
revolting to be described; and lived among the 
dying and the profligate the unwearied minister 
of consolation and of peace. In the midst of 
that floating throng, he knew how to create for 
himself a sacred solitude, and how to mix in all 
their pursuits in the free spirit of a man of the 
world, a gentleman, and a scholar. With the 
viceroy and his officers he talked, as pleased them 
best, of war or trade, of politics or navigation; 
and to restrain the common soldiers from gam- 
bling, would invent for their amusement less dan- 
gerous pastimes, or even hold the stakes for which 
they played, that by his presence and his gay 
discourse he might at least check the excesses 
which he could not prevent. 

Five weary months (weary to all but him) 
brought the ship to Mozambique, where an en- 
demic fever threatened a premature grave to the 
Apostle of the Indies. But his was no spirit to 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 35 

be quenched or allayed by the fiercest paroxysms 
of disease. At each remission of his malady, he 
crawled to the beds of his fellow-sufferers to 
soothe their terrors or assuage their pains. To 
the eye of any casual observer the most wretched 
of mankind, in the esteem of his companions the 
happiest and the most holy, he reached Goa just 
thirteen months after his departure from Lisbon. 
At Goa, Xavier was shocked, and had fear been 
an element in his nature, would have been dis- 
mayed, by the almost universal depravity of the 
inhabitants. It exhibited itself in those offensive 
forms which characterize the crimes of civilized 
men when settled among a feebler race, and re- 
leased from even the conventional decencies of 
civilization. Swinging in his hand a large bell, he 
traversed the streets of the city, and implored the 
astonished crowd to send their children to him, 
to be instructed in the religion which they still 
at least professed. Though he had never been 
addressed by the soul-stirring name of father, he 
knew that in the hardest and the most dissolute 
heart which had once felt the parental instinct, 
there is one chord which can never be wholly out 
of tune. A crowd of little ones were quickly 
placed under his charge. He lived among them 
as the most laborious of teachers, and the gen- 
tlest and the gayest of friends; and then returned 
them to their homes, that by their more hallowed 
example they might there impart, with all the 



36 ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

unconscious eloquence of filial love, the lessons 
of wisdom and of piety they had been taught. 
No cry of human misery reached him in vain. 
He became an inmate of the hospitals, selecting 
that of the leprous as the object of his peculiar 
care. Even in the haunts of debauchery, and at 
the tables of the profligate, he was to be seen, an 
honored and a welcome guest ; delighting that 
most unmeet audience with the vivacity of his 
discourse, and sparing neither pungent jests to 
render vice ridiculous, nor sportive flatteries to 
allure the fallen back to the still distasteful paths 
of soberness and virtue. Strong in purity of pur- 
pose, and stronger still in one sacred remembrance, 
he was content to be called the friend of 
publicans and sinners. He had in truth long 
since deserted the standard of prudence, the off- 
spring of forethought, for the banners of wisdom, 
the child of love, and followed them through 
perils not to be hazarded under any less triumph- 
ant leader. 

Rugged were the ways along which he was thus 
conducted. In those times, as in our own, there 
was on the Malabar coast a pearl fishery, and 
then, as now, the pearl-divers formed a separate 
and a degraded caste. It was not till after a resi- 
dence of twelve months at Goa, that Xavier 
heard of these people. He heard that they were 
ignorant and miserable, and he inquired no far- 
ther. On that burning shore his bell once more 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 37 

rang out an invitation of mercy, and again were 
gathered around him troops of inquisitive and do- 
cile children. For fifteen months he lived among 
these abject fishermen, his only food their rice 
and water, reposing in their huts, and allowing 
himself but three hours' sleep in the four-and- 
twenty. He became at once their physician, the 
arbiter in their disputes, and their advocate for 
the remission of their annual tribute with the 
government of Goa. The bishop of that city had 
assisted him with two interpreters, but his im- 
passioned spirit struggled, and not in vain, for 
some more direct intercourse with the objects of 
his care. Committing to memory translations, 
at the time unintelligible to himself, of the creeds 
and other symbols of his faith, he recited them 
with tones and gestures, which spoke at once to 
the senses and to the hearts of his disciples. All 
obstacles yielded to his restless zeal. He soon 
learned to converse, to preach, and to write in 
their language. Many an humble cottage was 
surmounted by a crucifix, the mark of its conse- 
cration; and many a rude countenance reflected 
the sorrows and the hopes which they had been 
taught to associate with that sacred emblem. 
"I have nothing to add," (the quotation is from 
one of the letters which at this same time he 
wrote to Loyola) " but that they who came forth 
to labor for the salvation of idolaters, receive 
from on high sucli consolations, that if there be 



38 ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

on earth such a thing as happiness, it is theirs." 
If there be such a thing, it is but as the check- 
ered sunshine of a vernal day. A hostile inroad 
from Madura overwhelmed the poor fishermen 
who had learned to callXavier their father, threw 
down their simple chapels, and drove them for 
refuge to the barren rocks and sand-banks which 
line the western shores of the strait of Manar. 
But their father was at hand to share their af- 
fliction, to procure for them from the viceroy at 
Goa relief and food, and to direct their confidence 
to a still more powerful Father whose presence 
and goodness they might adore even amidst the 
wreck of all their earthly treasures. 

It was a lesson not unmeet for those on whom 
such treasures had been bestowed in the most am- 
ple abundance ; and Xavier advanced to Travan- 
core, to teach it there to the Rajah and his 
courtiers. No facts resting on remote human 
testimony can be more exempt from doubt than 
the general outline of the tale which follows. A 
solitary, poor, and unprotected stranger, he 
burst through the barriers which separate men 
of different tongues and races : and with an ease 
little less than miraculous, established for him- 
self the means of inter changing thoughts with the 
people of the East. They may have ill-gathered 
his meaning, but by some mysterious force of 
sympathy they soon caught his ardor. Idol 
temples fell by the hands of their former wor- 



ST. ION A TIUS LO TOLA AND COMPANIONS. 39 

shippers. Christian churches rose at his bidding ; 
and the kingdom of Travancore was agitated with 
new ideas and unwonted controversies. The Brah- 
mins argued— as the Church by law established 
has not seldom argued — with fire and sword, 
and the interdict of earth and water, to the en- 
emies of their repose. 

On the Coromandel coast, near the city of Mel- 
iapor, might be seen in those times the oratory 
and the tomb of St. Thomas, the first teacher of 
Christianity in India. It was in a cool and se- 
questered grotto that the apostle had been wont to 
pray ; and there yet appeared on the living rock, 
in bold relief, the cross at which he knelt, with 
a crystal fountain of medicinal waters gushing 
from the base of it. On the neighboring height, 
a church with a marble altar, stained, after the 
lapse of fifteen centuries, with the blood of the 
martyr, ascertained the sacred spot at which his 
bones had been committed to the dust. To this 
venerable shrine Xavier retired, to learn the will 
of Heaven concerning him. He maintained, on 
this occasion, for seven successive days an un- 
broken fast and silence — no unfit preparation for 
his approaching conflicts. 

Thirty years before the arrival of Xavier, 
Malacca had been conquered by Alphonso Albu- 
querque. It was a place abandoned to every form 
of sensual and enervating indulgence. Through 
her crowded streets a strange and solemn visitor 



40 ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

passed along, pealing his faithful bell, and earn- 
estly imploring the prayers of the faithful for 
that guilty people. Curiosity and alarm soon 
gave way to ridicule ; but Xavier's panoply was 
complete. The messenger of divine wrath judged 
this an unfit occasion for courting aversion or con- 
tempt. He became the gayest of the gay, and, 
in address at least, the very model of an accom- 
plished cavalier. Foiled at their own weapons, 
his dissolute countrymen acknowledged the irres- 
istible authority of a self-devotion so awful, re- 
lieved and embellished as it was by every social 
grace. Thus the work of reformation prospered, 
or seemed to prosper. Altars rose in the open 
streets, the confessional was thronged by peni- 
tents, translations of devout books were multi- 
plied ; and the saint, foremost in every toil, ap- 
plied himself with all the activity of his spirit to 
study the structure and the graceful pronun- 
ciation of the Malayar tongue. But the plague 
was not thus to be stayed. A relapse into all their 
former habits filled up the measure of their 
crimes. With prophetic voice Xavier announced 
the impending chastisements of Heaven ; and 
shaking off from his feet the dust of the obdurate 
cit}^, pursued his indefatigable way to Amboyna. 
That island, then a part of the vast dominions 
of Portugal in the East, had scarcely witnessed 
the commencement of Xavier's exertions, when a 
fleet of Spanish vessels appeared in hostile array 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 41 

on the shores. They were invaders, and even 
corsairs ; for their expedition had been disavowed 
by Charles V. Pestilence, however, was raging 
among them ; and Xavier was equally ready to 
hazard his life in the cause of Portugal, or in the 
service of her afflicted enemies. Day and night 
he lived in the infected ships, soothing every 
spiritual distress, and exerting all the magical 
influence of his name to procure for the sick what- 
ever might contribute to their recovery or soothe 
their pains. The coals of fire, thus helped on the 
heads of the pirates, melted hearts otherwise 
steeled to pity ; and to Xavier belonged the rare, 
perhaps the unrivalled, glory of repelling an in- 
vasion by no weapons but those of self-denial 
and love. 

But glory, the praise of men, or frheir gratitude, 
what were these to him % As the Spaniards re- 
tired peacefully from Amlx b aa, he, too, quitted 
the half-adoring multitude, ^ horn hehadrescued 
from the horrors of a pirate's war,, and, spurning 
all the timid councils which would have stayed 
his course, proceeded, as the herald of good 
tidings, to the half barbarous islands of the 
neighboring Archipelago. " If those lands," 
such was his indignant exclamation, ' ' had scented 
woods and mines of gold, Christians would find 
courage to go there ; nor would all the perils of 
the world prevent them. They are das,tardly and 
alarmed, because there is nothing to be gained 



42 ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

there but the souls of men, and shall love be less 
hardy and less generous than avarice? They will 
destroy me, you say, by poison. It is an honor 
to which such a sinner as I am may not aspire; but 
this I dare to say, that whatever form of torture 
or of death awaits me, I am ready to suffer it ten 
thousand times for the salvation of a single soul." 
Nor was this the language of a man insensible to 
the sorrows of life, or really unaffected by the 
dangers he had to incur. "Believe me, my be- 
loved brethren," (we quote from a letter written 
by him at this time to the Society at Rome), "it 
is in general easy to understand the evangelical 
maxim, that he who will lose his life shall find 
it. But when the moment of action has come, 
and when the sacrifice of life for God is to be 
really made, oh, then, clear as at other times the 
meaning is, it becomes deeply obscure! so dark, 
indeed, that he alone can comprehend it, to whom, 
in His mercy, God Himself interprets it. Then it 
is we know how weak and frail we are." 

Weak and frail he may have been ; but from 
the days of St. Paul to our own, the annals of 
mankind exhibit no other example of a soul borne 
onward so triumphantly through distress and 
danger, in all their most appalling aspects. He 
battled with hunger, and thirst, and nakedness, 
and assassination, and pursued his mission of 
love, with even increasing ardor, amidst the 
wildest war of the contending elements. At the 



ST IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 43 

island of Moro (one of the gronp of the Moluccas) 
he took his stand at the foot of a volcano ; and 
as the pillar of fire threw up its wreaths to heaven, 
and the earth tottered beneath him, and the fir- 
mament was rent by falling rocks and peals of 
unintermitting thunder, he pointed to the fierce 
lightnings, and the river of molten lava, and 
called on the agitated crowd which clung to him 
for safety, to repent, and to obey the truth. Re- 
pairing for the celebration of Mass to some edi- 
fice which he had consecrated for the purpose, 
an earthquake shook the building to its base. 
The terrified worshippers fled ; but Xavier stand- 
ing in meek composure before the rocking altar, 
deliberately completed that mysterious Sacrifice. 
The history of Xavier now reaches an unwel- 
come pause. He pined for solitude and silence. 
He had been too long in constant intercourse with 
man, and found that, however high and holy may 
be the ends for which social life is cultivated, the 
habit, if unbroken, will impair that inward sense 
through which alone the soul can gather any true 
intimations of her nature and her destiny. He 
retired to commune with himself in a seclusion 
where the works of God alone were to be seen, 
and where no voices could be heard but those 
which, in each varying cadence, raise an uncon- 
scious anthem of praise and adoration to their 
Creator. There for awhile reposing from labors 
such as few or any other of the sons of men 



44 ST IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

have undergone, he consumed days and weeks in 
meditating prospects beyond the reach of any 
vision unenlarged by the habitual exercise of be- 
neficence and piety. 

Scarcely four years had elapsed from the first 
discovery of Japan by the Portuguese, when 
Xavier, attended by Auger and his two servants, 
sailed from Goa to convert the islanders to the 
Christian faith. Much good advice had been, as 
usual, wasted on him by his friends. To Loyola 
alone he confided the secret of his confidence. 
"I cannot express to you," (such are his words) 
" the joy with which I undertake this long voyage; 
for it is full of extreme perils, and we consider a 
fleet sailing to Japan as eminently prosperous in 
which one ship out of four is saved. Though the 
risk far exceeds any which I have hitherto en- 
countered, I shall not decline it ; for our Lord 
has imparted to me an interior revelation of the 
rich harvest which will one day be gathered from 
the cross when once planted there." What- 
ever may be thought of these voices from within, 
it is at least clear that nothing magnanimous or 
sublime has ever yet proceeded from those who 
have listened only to the voices from without. 
But, as if resolved to show that a man may at 
once act on motives incomprehensible to his fellow 
mortals, and possess the deepest insight into the 
motives by which they are habitually governed, 
Xavier left behind him a code of instructions for 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 45 

his brother missionaries, illuminated in almost 
every page by that profound sagacity which re- 
sults from the union of extensive knowledge with 
•acute observation, mellowed by the intuitive wis- 
dom of a compassionate and lowly heart. The 
science of self-conquest, with a view to conquer 
the stubborn will of others, the act of winning 
admission for painful truth, and the duties of 
fidelity and reverence in the attempt to heal the 
diseases of the human spirit, were never taught 
by uninspired man with an eloquence more gentle, 
or an authority more impressive. A long voyage, 
pursued through every disaster which the mal- 
evolence of man and demons could oppose to his 
progress (for he was constrained to sail in a pirat- 
ical ship, with idols on her deck and whirlwinds 
in her path), brought him, in the year 1549, to 
Japan, there to practice his own lessons, and to 
give anew example of heroic perseverance. 

Carrying on his back his only viaticum, the ves- 
sels requisite for performing the Sacrifice of the 
Mass, he advanced to Firando, at once the seaport 
'and the capital of the kingdom of that name. 
Some Portuguese ships riding at anchor there, an- 
nounced his arrival in all the forms of nautical tri- 
umph — flags of every hue floating from the masts, 
seamen clustering on the yards, cannon roaring 
from beneath, and trumpets braying from above. 
Firando was agitated with debate and wonder; 
all asked, but none could afford, an explanation 



46 ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

of the homage rendered by the wealthy traders to 
the meanest of their countrymen. It was given 
by the humble pilgrim himself, surrounded in the 
royal presence by all the pomp which the Euro- 
peans could display in his honor. Great was the 
effect of these auxiliaries to the work of an evan- 
gelist ; and the modern, like the ancient Apostle, 
ready to become all things to all men, would no 
longer decline the abasement of assuming for a 
moment the world's grandeur, when he found 
that: such puerile acts might allure the children 
of the world to listen to the voice of wisdom. At 
Meaco, then the seat of empire in Japan, the dis- 
covery might be reduced to practice with still 
more important success, and thitherwards his 
steps were promptly directed. 

At Amanguchi, the capital of INagoto, he found 
the hearts of men hardened by sensuality, and his 
exhortations to repentance were repaid by showers 
of stones and insults. They drove him forth half 
naked, with no provision but a bag of parched 
rice, and accompanied only by three of his con- 
verts, prepared to share his danger and his re- 
proach. 

It was in the depth of winter ; dense forests, steep 
mountains, half -frozen streams, and wastes of un- 
trodden snow, lay in his path to Meaco. An en- 
tire month was consumed in traversing the wilder- 
ness, and the cruelty and scorn of man not seldom 
adding bitterness to the rigors of nature. On 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 47 

one occasion the wanderers were overtaken in a 
thick jungle by a horseman bearing a heavy pack- 
age. Xavier offered to carry the load, if the rider 
would requite the service by pointing out his way. 
The offer was accepted, but hour after hour the 
horse was urged on at such a pace, and so rapidly 
sped the panting missionary after him, that his 
tortured feet and excoriated body sank in seeming 
death under the protracted effort. In the extrem- 
ity of his distress no repining word was ever 
heard to fall from him. lie performed this dread- 
ful pilgrimage in silent communion with Him for 
whom he rejoiced to suffer the loss of all things ; 
or spoke only to sustain the hope and courage of 
his associates. At length the walls of Meaco were 
seen, promising a repose not ungrateful even to 
his adamantine frame and fiery spirit. But repose 
was no more to visit him. He found the city in 
all the tumult and horror of a siege. It was im- 
possible to gain attention to his doctrines amidst 
the din of arms. Chanting from the Psalmist — 
When Israel went out of Egypt and the house of 
Jacob from a strange people — the Saint again 
plunged into the desert, and retraced his steps to 
Amanguchi. 

Xavier describes the Japanese very much as a 
Roman might have depicted the Greeks in the 
age of Augustus, as at once intellectual and sen- 
sual voluptuaries ; on the best possible terms with 
themselves, a good-humored but faithless race, 



48 ST. 1GNAT1 US LO TOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

equally acute aud frivolous, talkative and dispu- 
tatious — "their inquisitiveness," he says, "is 
incredible, especially in their intercourse with 
strangers, for whom they have not the slightest 
respect, but make incessant sport of them. ' ' Sur- 
rounded at Amanguchi, by a crowd of these bab- 
blers, he was plied with innumerable questions 
about the immortality of the soul, the movements 
of the planets, eclipses, the rainbow — sin, grace, 
paradise, and hell. He heard and answered. A 
single response solved all these problems. As- 
tronomers, meteorologists, metaphysicians, and 
divines, all heard the same sound, but to each it 
came with a different and an appropriate meaning. 
So wrote from the very spot Father Anthony 
Quadros four years after the event, and so the 
fact may be read in the process of Xavier's 
canonization. 

In such controversies, and in doing the work 
of an evangelist in every other form, Xavier saw 
the third year of his residence at Japan gliding 
away, when tidings of perplexities at the mother 
church of Goa recalled him thither ; across seas 
so wide and stormy, that even the sacred lust of 
gold hardly braved them in that infancy of the 
art of navigation. As his ship drove before the 
monsoon, dragging after her a smaller bark which 
she had taken in tow, the connecting ropes were 
suddenly burst asunder, and in a few minutes 
the two vessels were no longer in sight. Thrice 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 49 

the sun rose and set on their dark course, the un- 
chained elements roaring as in mad revelry around 
them, and the ocean seething like a caldron. 
Xavier's shipmates wept over the loss of friends 
and kindred in the foundered bark, and shuddered 
at their own approaching doom. He also wept ; 
but his were grateful tears. As the screaming 
whirlwind swept over the abyss, the present Deity 
was revealed to His faithful worshipper, shedding 
tranquillity, and peace, and joy over the sanctuary 
of a devout and confiding heart. " Mourn not, 
my friend," was his gay address to Edward de 
Gama, as he lamented the loss of his brother in 
the bark; " before three days, the daughter will 
have returned to her mo ther. ' ' They were weary 
and anxious day s ; but, as the third drew towards 
a close, a sail appeared on the horizon. Defying 
the adverse winds, she made straight towards 
them, and at last dropped alongside, as calmly 
as the sea-bird ends her flight, and furls her 
ruffled plumage on the swelling surge. The cry 
of miracle burst from every lip ; and well it 
might. There was the lost bark, and not the bark 
only, but Xavier himself on board of her ! What 
thougli he had ridden out the tempest in the 
larger vessel, the stay of their drooping spirits, 
he had at the same time been in the smaller ship, 
performing there also the same charitable office ; 
and yet, when the two hailed and spoke to each 
other, there was but one Francis Xavier, and he 



50 ST. IQNA TIUS LO TOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

composedly standing by the side of Edward de 
Gama on the deck of the "Holy Cross." Such 
was the name of the Commodore's vessel. For 
her services on this occasion, she obtained a sacred 
charter of immunity from risks of every kind.; and 
as long as her timbers continued sound, bounded 
merrily across seas in which no other craft could 
have lived. 

During this wondrous voyage, her deck had 
often been paced in deep conference by Xavier 
and Jago de Pereyra, her commander. The great 
object which expanded the thoughts of Pereyra 
was the conversion of the Chinese empire. Be- 
fore the "Holy Cross" had reached Goa, Pereyra 
had pledged his whole fortune, Xavier his influ- 
ence and his life, to this gigantic adventure. In 
the spring of the following year, the apostle and 
Pereyra sailed from Goa in the "Holy Cross," 
for the then unexplored coasts of China. As 
they passed Malacca, tidings came to Xavier of 
the tardy though true fulfilment of one of his 
predicitons. Pestilence, the minister of Divine 
vengeance, was laying waste that stiff-necked and 
luxurious people ; but the woe he had foretold he 
was the foremost to alleviate. Heedless of his 
own safety, he raised the sick in his arms and 
bore them to the hospitals. He esteemed no 
time, or place, or office, too sacred to give way 
to this work of mercy. Ships, colleges, churches, 
all at his bidding became so many lazarettos. 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 51 

Mght and day lie lived among the diseased and 
the dying, or quitted them only to beg food or 
medicine, from door to door, for their relief. 
For the moment, even China was forgotten ; nor 
would he advance a step though it were to con- 
vert to Christianity a third part of the human 
race, so long as one victim of tne plague de- 
manded his sympathy, or could be directed to an 
ever-present and still more compassionate Com- 
forter. The career of Xavier was now drawing 
to a close; and with him the time was ripe for 
practising those deeper lessons of wisdom which 
he had imbibed from his long and arduous 
discipline. 

Again the " Holy Cross" prepared for sea; 
and the apostle of the Indies, followed by a grate- 
ful and admiring people, passed through the gates 
of Malacca to the beach. Falling on his face to 
the earth, he poured forth a passionate though 
silent prayer. His body heaved and shook with 
the throes of that agonizing hour. What might 
be the fearful portent none might divine, and 
none presumed to ask. A contagious tenor 
passed from eye to eye, but every voice was 
hushed. It was as the calm preceding the first 
thunder peal which is to rend the firmament. 
Xavier arose, his countenance no longer beaming 
with its accustomed grace and tenderness, but 
glowing with a sacred indignation, like that of 
Isaiah when breathing forth his inspired menaces 



52 ST. IGNA TITJS L TOLA AND COMPANIONS. 

against the king of Babylon. Standing on a rock 
amidst the waters, he loosed his shoes from off 
his feet, smote them against each other with 
vehement action, and then casting them from him, 
as still tainted with the dust of that devoted city, 
he leaped barefooted into the bark, which bore 
him away forever from a place from which he had 
so long and vainly labored to avert her impend- 
ing doom. 

She bore him, as he had projected, to the island 
of Sancian. It was a mere commercial factory ; 
and the merchants who passed the trading season 
there, vehemently opposed his design of penetrat- 
ing farther into China. True he had ventured 
into the forest, against the tigers which infested 
it, with no other weapon than a vase of holy 
water ; and the savage beasts, sprinkled with 
that sacred element, had forever fled the place : 
but the mandarins were fiercer still than they, 
and would avenge the preaching of the saint on 
the inmates of the factory. 

Long years had now passed away since the 
voice of Loyola had been heard on the banks of 
the Seine urging the solemn inquiry, "What 
shall it profit." But the words still rung on the 
ear of Xavier, and were still repeated, though 
in vain, to his worldly associates at Sancian. 
They sailed away with their cargoes, leaving be- 
hind them only the " Holy Cross," in charge of 
the officers of Alvaro, and depriving Xavier of all 



ST. IGNATIUS LOYOLA AND COMPANIONS. 53 

means of crossing the channel to Macao. They 
left him destitute of shelter and of food, but not 
of hope. He had heard that the King of Siam 
meditated an embassy to China for the following 
year ; and to Siam he resolved to return in 
Alvaro's vessel, to join himself, if possible, to the 
Siamese envoys, and so at length to force his way 
into the empire. 

But his earthly toils and projects, were now to 
cease forever. The angel of death appeared with 
a summons, for which, since death first entered 
our world, no man was ever more triumphantly 
prepared. It found him on board the vessel on 
the point of departing for Siam. At his own re- 
quest he was removed to the shore, that he might 
meet his end with the greater composure. 
Stretched on the naked beach, with the cold blasts 
of a Chinese winter aggravating his pains, he con- 
tended alone with the agonies of the fever which 
wasted his vital power. It was a solitude and an 
agony for which the happiest of the sons of men 
might well have exchanged the dearest society 
and the purest of the joys of life. It was an 
agony in which his still uplifted crucifix reminded 
him of a far more awful woe endured for his de- 
liverance ; and a solitude thronged by blessed 
ministers of peace and consolation, visible in all 
their bright and lovely aspects to the now un- 
clouded eye of faith ; and audible to the dying 
martyr through the yielding bars of his mortal 



54 JOAN OF ABC, THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 

prison-house, in strains of exulting joy till then 
unheard and unimagined. Tears burst from his 
fading eyes, tears of an emotion too big for utter- 
ance. In the cold collapse of death his features 
were for a few brief moments irradiated as with 
the first beams of approaching glory. He raised 
himself on his crucifix, and exclaiming, In te 
Domine, speram—non confundar in (sternum! 
he bowed his head and died.— Edinburgh Review. 



JOAN OF AEC, THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 

What is to be thought of her? What is to be 
thought of the poor shepherd -girl from the hills 
and forests of Lorraine, that — like the Hebrew 
shepherd- boy from the hills and forests of 
Judea — rose suddenly out of the quiet, out of the 
safety, out of the religious inspiration, rooted in 
deep pastoral solitudes, to a station in the van of 
armies, and to the more perilous station at the 
right hand of kings? The Hebrew boy inaug- 
urated his patriotic mission by an act, by a vic- 
torious act, such as no man could deny. But so 
did the girl of Lorraine, if we read her story as 
it was read by those who saw her nearest. 
Adverse armies bore witness to the boy as no pre- 



JOAN OF ARC, JHE MAID OF ORLEANS. 55 

tender ; but so did they to the gentle girl. 
Judged by the voices of all who saw V&emfrom a 
station of good-will, both were found true and 
loyal to any promises involved in their first acts. 
Enemies it was that made the difference between 
their subsequent fortunes. The boy rose — to a 
splendor and a noonday prosperity, both personal 
and public, that rang through the records of his 
people, and became a by-word amongst his 
posterity, for a thousand years, until the sceptre 
was departing from Judah. The poor, forsaken 
girl, on the contrary, drank not herself from that 
cup of rest which she had secured for France. 
She never sang together with them the songs that 
rose in her native Domremy, as echoes to the 
departing steps of invaders. She mingled not in 
the festal dances at Yaucouleurs which cele- 
brated in rapture the redemption of France. 
No ! for her voice was then silent. No! for her 
feet were dust. Pure, innocent, noble-hearted 
girl ! whom, from earliest youth, ever I believed in 
as full of truth and self-sacrifice, this was amongst 
the strongest pledges for thy side, that never 
once — no, not for a moment of weakness — didst 
thou revel in the vision of coronets and honors 
from men. Coronets for thee! O no! Honors, 
if they come when all is over, are for those that 
share thy blood. Daughter of Domremy, when 
the gratitude of thy king shall awaken, thou wilt 
be sleeping the sleep of the dead. Call her, king 



56 JOAN OF ARC, THE MAID OF ORLEANS. 

of France, but she will not hear thee ! Cite 
her by thy apparitors to come and receive a robe 
of honor, but she will be found en contumace. 
When the thunders of universal France, as even 
yet may happen, shall proclaim the grandeur of 
the poor shepherd girl that gave up all for her 
country — thy ear, young shepherd-girl, will 
have been deaf for five centuries. To suffer and 
to do, that was thy portion in this life ; to do — 
never for thyself, always for others ; to suffer 
— never in the persons of generous champions, al- 
ways in thy own ; that was thy destiny ; and not 
for a moment was it hidden from thyself. ' ' Life, ' ' 
thou saidst, "is short, and the sleep which is in 
the grave is long. Let me use that life, so tran- 
sitory, for the glory of those heavenly dreams 
destined to comfort the sleep which is so long." 
This poor creature — pure from every suspicion of 
even a visionary self-interest, even as she was 
pure in senses more obvious — never once did this 
holy child, as regarded herself relax from her belief 
in the darkness that was travelling to meet her. 
She might not prefigure the very manner of her 
death ; she saw not in vision, perhaps, the aerial 
altitude of the fiery scaffold, the spectators with- 
out end on every road pouring into Rouen as to 
a coronation, the surging smoke, the volleying 
flames, the hostile faces all around, the pitying 
eye that lurked but here and there, until nature 
and imperishable truth broke loose from artifi- 



JOAN OF ARC, HIE MAID OF ORLEANS. 57 

cial restraints; these might not be apparent 
through the mists of the hurrying future. But 
the voice that called her to death, that she heard 
forever. 

Great was the throne of France, even in those 
days, and great was he that sat upon it; but well 
Joanna knew that not the throne, nor he that sat 
upon it, was for her; but, on the contrary, that 
she was for them ; not she by them, but they by 
her, should rise from the dust. G-orgeous were 
the lilies of France, and for centuries had the 
privilege to spread their beauty over land and 
sea, until, in another century, the wrath of God 
and man combined to wither them ; but well 
Joanna knew, early at Domremy she had read 
that bitter truth, that the lilies of France would 
decorate no garland for her. Flower nor bud, 
bell nor blossom, would ever bloom for her. 

On the Wednesday after Trinity Sunday, in 
1431, being then about nineteen years of age, the 
Maid of Arc underwent her martyrdom. She was 
conducted before midday, guarded by eight hun- 
dred spearmen, to a platform of prodigious 
height, constructed of wooden billets, supported 
by hollow spaces in every direction, for the cre- 
ation of air-currents. " The pile struck terror," 
says M. Michelet, " by its height.". . . There 
would be a certainty of calumny rising against 
her — some people would impute to her a willing- 
ness to recant. No innocence could escape that. 



58 JOAN OF ARC, THE MAID OF ORLEANS, 

Now, had she really testified this willingness on 
the scaffold it would have argued nothing at all 
but the weakness of a genial nature shrinking 
from the instant approach of torment. And 
those will often pity that weakness most who in 
their own person would yield to it least. Mean- 
time there never was a calumny uttered that 
drew less support from the recorded circum- 
stances. It rests upon no positive testimony, and 
it has a weight of contradicting testimony to 
stem. . . What else but her meek, saintly de- 
meanor won, from the enemies that till now had 
believed her a witch, tears of rapturous admiration? 
"Ten thousand men," says M. Michelet himself, 
' ' ten thousand men wept ; and of those ten thou- 
sand the majority were political enemies." What 
else was it but her constancy, united with her 
angelic gentleness, that drove the fanatic English 
soldier — who had sworn to throw a fagot on her 
scaffold as Ms tribute of abhorrence that did so, 
that fulfilled his vow — suddenly to turn away a 
penitent for life, saying everywhere that he had 
seen a dove rising upon wings to heaven from 
the ashes where she had stood ? What else drove 
the executioner to kneel at every shrine for pardon 
to Ids share in the tragedy? And if all this 
were insufficient, then I cite the closing a^u of her 
life as valid on her behalf, were all other testi- 
monies against her. The executioner had been di- 
rected to apjply the torch from below. He did so. 



THE HOL Y LAND. 59 

The fiery smoke rose up in billowy columns. 
A Dominican monk was then standing almost at 
her side. Wrapped up in his sublime office, he 
saw not the danger, but still persisted in his 
prayers. Even then, when the last enemy was 
racing up the fiery stairs to seize her, even at that 
moment did this noblest of girls think only for 
him, the one friend that would not forsake her, 
and not for herself ; bidding him with her last 
breath to care for his own preservation but to 
leave her to God. That girl, whose latest breath 
descended in this sublime expression of self- 
oblivion, did not utter the wordrecanf, either with 
her lips or in her heart. No, she did not, though 
one should rise from the dead to swear it. — De 
Quincey. 



THE HOLY LAND. 

Hail, Holy Land ! Land of human sorrows 
and divine mercies ! Land of prophecy, country 
of God and man, our eyes now turn towards thee. 
At thy very name we feel an irresistible emotion, 
and the depths of our souls re-echo the accents 
of the royal psalmist: "O Jerusalem, may my 
right hand perish, if ever I forget thee !" 

But if we would speak worthily of Jerusalem, 
we must borrow the language of St. Bernard ; 



60 THE HOLY LAND. 

"Hail, then, holy city, city of the Son of God: 
chosen and sanctified to be the source of our sal- 
vation ! Hail to thee, dwelling-place of the Great 
King, whence have emanated all the wonders of 
ancient and modern times which have rejoiced 
the world ! Queen of nations, capital of empires, 
see of patriarchs, mother of prophets and apostles, 
first cradle of our faith, glory and honor of 
Christianity! Hail, promised land, once flowing 
with milk and honey for thy first children, thou 
hast produced the food of life and the medicine 
of immortality for all future ages. Yes, city of 
God, great things have been spoken of thee !" 

Although now dead and withered, Jerusalem, 
like the prophet's bones, seems still to possess the 
virtue of giving life to the dead who touch her 
ancient remains. Her name, like the name of God, 
whence it is derived, is invested with a hidden pow- 
er, which at certain periods manifests itself like the 
electric spark, and diffuses a sacred emotion 
throughout every land ; and when the world goes 
astray, when it becomes exhausted, or slumbers 
in the shadow of death, this life-giving name 
awakens it, and the angel who descends into the 
pool of the holy city stirs the springs of life, and 
pours the heavenly sap once more through the 
veins of the human race. 

There has never been any great idea, or first prin- 
ciple, or heavenly inspiration, which has not 
arisen in the Holy Land before its diffusion 



THE HOLY LAND. 61 

throughout the world. There, in the beginning, 
flowed the tears and the blood of sinful man ; 
there, under the mount of skulls,* are laid the 
remains of Adam and those of the mother of the 
living. Melchisedech came there to offer the sac- 
rifice of future reconciliation ; and under that 
high-priest's footsteps, according to the eternal 
decree, arose Salem, the city of peace. The three 
races of mankind — the descendants of Shem, Ham, 
and Japheth — each in its turn mingled their ashes 
with those of the father of all men ; and thus 
around the first human grave, the primitive altar 
of mercy, was found the sacred field of the dead — 
that vast cemetery of the sons of men, which grad- 
ually enlarged its limits unto the uttermost parts 
of the earth. On this mystical altar flowed the 
blood of beasts, the blood of man, and the blood 
of God ; and from the summit of this altar, on the 
Holy mount, where Christ consummated His sac- 
rifice, Divine grace flowed forth upon the dead, 
and watered the dust of man, which will one day 
revive again.— M. V Abbe Batisbonne. 



* Calvary, " the place of skulls," on which was raised the cross of Christ, is 
said to contain the ashes of Adam and Eve. This assertion is by no means 
authentic ; but is founded on pious tradition which the Church has never con- 
demned. 



62 L)EA TH OF WILLIAM THE CONQ UEROJR. 



DEATH OF WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR, 
SEPT. 9, 1087. 

The death-bed of William was a death-bed of 
all formal devotion, a death-bed of penitence 
which we may trust was more than formal. The 
English Chronicler [William of Malmesbury], 
after weighing the good and evil in him, sends 
him out of the world with a charitable prayer 
for his soul's rest; and his repentance, late and 
fearful as it was, at once marks the distinction 
between the Conqueror on his bed of death and 
his successor cut off without a thought of peni- 
tence in the midst of his crimes. He made his 
will. The mammon of unrighteousness which he 
had gathered together amid the groans and tears 
of England he now strove so to dispose of as to 
pave his way to an everlasting habitation. All 
his treasures were distributed among the poor 
and the churches of his dominions. A special 
sum was set apart for the rebuilding of the 
churches which had been burned at Mantes, and 
gifts in money and books and ornaments of every 
kind were to be distributed among all the churches 
of England according to their rank. He then spoke 
of his own life, and of the arrangements which he 
wished to make for his dominions after his death. 
The Normans, he said, were a brave and uncon- 
quered race; but they needed the curb of a strong 



BE A TR OF WILLIAM THE CONQ UEROR. 63 * 

and a righteous master to keep them in the path 
of order. Yet the rule over them must by all law 
pass to Robert. Robert was his eldest born; he 
had promised him the Norman succession before 
he won the crown of England, and he had received 
the homage of the barons of the Duchy. Nor- 
mandy and Maine must therefore pass to Robert, 
and for them he must be the man of the French 
king. Yet he well knew how sad would be the 
fate of the land which had to be ruled by one so 
proud and foolish, and for whom a career of shame 
and sorrow was surely doomed. 

But what was to be done with England ? Now 
at last the heart of William smote him. To Eng- 
land he dared not appoint a successor; he could 
only leave the disposal of the island realm to the 
Almighty Ruler of the world. The evil deeds of 
his past life crowded upon his soul. Now at last 
his heart confessed that he had won England by no 
right, by no claim of birth; that he had won the 
English crown by wrong, and that what he had 
won by wrong he had no right to give to another. 
He had won his realm by warfare and bloodshed; 
he had treated the sons of the English soil with 
needless harshness; he had cruelly wronged 
nobles and commons; he had spoiled many men 
wrongfully of their inheritance; he had slain 
countless multitudes by hunger or by the sword. 
The harrying of Northumberland now rose up be- 
fore his eyes in all its blackness. The dying 



64 DEA TH OF WILLIAM THE CONQ UEROR 

man now told how cruelly he had burned and 
plundered the land, what thousands of every age 
and sex among the noble nation which he had 
conquered had been done to death at his bidding.. 
The sceptre of the realm which he had won by so 
many crimes he dared not hand over to any but 
to God alone. Yet he would not hide his wish 
that his son William, who had ever been dutiful 
to him, might reign in England after him. He 
would send him beyond the sea, and he would 
pray Larifranc to place the crown upon his head, 
if the Primate in his wisdom deemed that such 
an act could be rightly done. 

Of the two sons of whom he spoke, Robert 
was far away, a banished rebel; William was by 
his bedside. By his bedside also stood his young- 
est son, the English iEtheling, Henry the Clerk. 
" And what dost thou give to me, my father?" said 
the youth. "Five thousand pounds of silver 
from my hoard," was the Conqueror's answer. 
"But of what use is a hoard to me if I have no 
place to dwell in?" "Be patient, my son, and 
trust in the Lord, and let thine elders go before 
thee." It is perhaps by the light of later events 
that our chronicler goes on to make William tell 
his youngest son that the day would come when 
he would succeed both his brothers in their do- 
minions, and would be richer and mightier than 
either of them. The king then dictated a letter to 
Lanf ranc, setting forth his wishes with regard to the 



BE A TH OF WILLIAM THE COJSTQ UEBOU. Qfr 

kingdom. He sealed it and gave it to Ms son 
William, and bade him, with his last blessing 
and his last kiss, to cross at once into England. 
William Ruf us straightway set forth for Witsand 
and there heard of his father' s death. Meanwhile 
Henry, too, left his father' s bedside to take for 
himself the money that was left to him, to see 
that nothing was lacking in its weight, to call 
together his comrades on whom he could trust, 
and to take measures for stowing the treasure in 
a place of safety. 

And now those who stood around the dying 
king began to implore his mercy for the captives 
whom he held in prison. He granted the 
prayer. . . . 

The last earthly acts of the Conqueror were now 
done. He had striven to make his peace with 
God and man, and to make such provision as he 
conld for the children and the subjects whom he 
had left behind him. And now his last hour was 
come. On a Thursday morning in September, 
when the sun had already risen upon the earth, 
the sound of the great bell of the metropolitan 
minster struck on the ears of the dying king. He 
asked why it sounded. He was told that it rang 
for prime in the Church of Our Lady. William 
lifted his eyes to heaven, he stretched forth his 
hands, and spake his last words: "To my Lady 
Mary, the Holy Mother of God, I commend my- 
self, that by her holy prayers she may reconcile 



,Q6 TEE ROMAN CATEOLIG CEUBCE. 

me to her dear Son, our Lord Jesus Christ." He 
prayed, and his soul passed away. William, 
king of the English and duke of the Normans, 
the man whose fame has filled the world in his 
<own and in every following age, had gone the 
way of all flesh. No kingdom was left him now 
but his seven feet of ground, and even to that 
.his claim was not to be undisputed. 

— Edward A. Freeman. 



THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH. 

The history of that Church joins together the 
■two great ages of human civilization. No other 
institution is left standing which carries the mind 
back to the times when the smoke of sacrifice rose 
from the Pantheon, and when cameleopards and 
tigers bounded in the Flavinian amphitheatre. 
The proudest royal houses are but of yesterday, 
when compared with the line of the Supreme 
Pontiffs. That line we trace back in an unbroken 
series, from the Pope who crowned Napoleon in 
the nineteenth century, to the Pope who crowned 
Pepin in the eighth ; and far beyond the time of 
Pepin the august dynasty extends. The republic 
of Venice came next in antiquity. But the re- 
public of Venice was modern when compared with 



THE ROMAN CATHOLIC CHURCH 67 

the Papacy ; and the republic of Venice is gone, and 
the Papacy remains. The Papacy remains, not 
in decay, not a mere antique, but full of life and 
youthful vigor. The Catholic Church is still send- 
ing forth to the farthest ends of the world mis- 
sionaries as zealous as those who landed in Kent 
with Augustine, and still confronting hostile kings 
with the same spirit with which she confronted 
Attila. The number of her children is greater 
than in any former age. Her acquisitions in the 
New World have more than compensated for what 
she has lost in the Old. Her spiritual ascendancy 
extends over the vast countries which lie between 
the plains of the Missouri and Cape Horn, coun- 
tries which, a century hence, may not improbably 
contain a population as large as that which now 
inhabits Europe. The members of her communion 
are certainly not fewer than one hundred and fifty 
millions; and it will be difficult to show that all 
other Christian sects united amount to a hundred 
and twenty millions. * Nor do we see any sign 
which indicates that the term of her long dominion 
is approaching. She saw the commencement of 
all the governments and of all the ecclesiastical 
establishments that now exist in the world ; and 
we feel no assurance that she is not destined to 
see the end of them all. She was great and re- 
spected before the Saxon had set foot on Britain, 
before the Frank had passed the Khine, when 
Grecian eloquence still flourished at Antioch, 

* Estimated now at two hundred and twenty-five millions. 



f 68 THE NIGHTINGALE'S RETURN. 

when idols were still worshipped in the temple of 
Mecca. And she may still exist in nndiminished 
vigor when some traveller from New Zealand 
; shall, in the midst of a vast solitude, take his 
stand on a broken arch of London Bridge to sketch 
ithe ruins of St Paul' s. — Lord Macaulay. 



THE NIGHTINGALE'S RETUKN. 

~Where hast thou been these nine months, dulcet 
bird \ 
Have Bagdad' s maidens listened to the swell 
<Of thy shrill music amid citrons heard % 

Or hast thou showered on Hydra's asphodel 
Clear notes prolonged beside some marble well ? 
'Or trilled thy song of love hard by the herd 

Of antelopes % or where Nile's cataracts fell 
Did lotus, palm, and melon, catch thy word % 

I take it kindly of thee that at last 
'Thou art come back to us without a call : 

No Syrian groves or blooms could hold thee 
fast, 
Nor thy quick brain to such extent inthral 
But this instinctive preference through it 
passed — 
"The English woods and roses beat them all." 

— Earle. 



MARSHAL MAC M AEON. 69 

MARSHAL MacMAHOK 

"Patrick Maey Ediukd Maurice de Mac- 
Mahon!" Such is the significant baptismal name 
of the illustrious soldier, the first of our age, who 
lately occupied the chief place in the French re- 
public; a name that, almost in itself, is a guarantee 
of sound training and traditions; of fervent reli- 
gious faith; and of ardent patriotism to the old 
and new countries, to Old Ireland, that fruitful 
mother of heroes, and to chivalrous Catholic 
France, the loved land by adoption of kindred 
Celts, one in creed and origin, who have ever 
found there that religious freedom, and manly 
appreciation, denied to them at home by the 
foreign conquerors of the green soil of Erin, but 
never of the hearts of her sons. ' ; Sursum corda !" 
Surely there is a political future for the land 
which claims such men. 

A recent writer gives the following description 
of the man: — You seek a soldier — behold one ! 
His height is not remarkable, but that body, all 
steel and iron, is made for the march, for the 
camp, for the charge. His countenance is calm 
and mild as the green valleys of his own ances- 
tral island; and the energy of his mind never 
banishes the serenity of his visage behind its veil 
of an undefined sadness. His eyes are well-set; 
his glance bright and thoughtful; his moustaches 
fall carelessly over his lips after the fashion com- 



70 MARSHAL MA G MARON. 

mon among the old Chasseurs d'Afrique. His 
hair is thin and straight, as having suffered from 
the constant wearing of the kepi. His physiog- 
mony is open and frank, and simple without af- 
fectation, his attitude is at once noble and 
modest ; there is about him that indescribable 
air of aristocratic carelessness that bespeaks the 
gentleman who has grown old in the camp. 

He loves not the world of fashion ; he cares 
little for politics ; and would, probably, sooner 
mount to the assault of a battery than ascend the 
parlimentary tribune. His tribune, you will find 
it in the tower of the Malakoff, whence he speaks 
to the Russians ; on a Kabylian rock, whence he 
has chased the Arab ambush, or in the breach at 
Antwerp, Oran, and Constantine. 

Do you see him galloping past, his body rivet- 
ted to the saddle, his sword rivetted to his hand. 
The spirit of battle possesses and moves him. 
He is transformed, his eye shoots fire, the red 
blood rushes up to his face, his lips tremble. He 
rushes on ; he commands ; he is himself. His 
glance, unerring as it is rapid, takes in the whole 
scene, -and eye and mind are at once thoroughly 
devoted to the pursuit of the end to be attained. 
With him the presence of the thunder is made 
known and its stroke is almost felt at one and the 
same instant. He gives his orders as the cannon 
pours forth its death-dealing balls, and the sound 
of his voice at such times is as steady and precise 



DECISION IN FA VOR OF VIRTUE. 71 

as the roll of the drum. The soldier knows that 
voice, which has resounded in his ears from one 
end of Algeria to the other, on the heights of the 
Malakoff, at Magenta, and at Solferino, That 
voice enforces not only obedience, but it breathes 
the fire of patriotic enthusiasm. 

It has been said of the Marshal that he shared 
in the qualities of both Ney and Massena; the 
saying is true, inasmuch as he is at once the 
bravest of the brave, and the cherished child of 
victory. 



DECISION IN FAVOR OF VIRTUE. 

Virtue is the most precious of all treasures, and 
this has been recognized, even by pagans. A 
charming story on this subject is related by Cran- 
tor, a Greek philosopher, who lived more than 
three hundred years before Christ. " One day," 
says he, ' ' the divinities who preside over riches, 
voluptuousness, health, and virtue, suddenly ap- 
peared amongst the various nations of Greece as- 
sembled to celebrate the Olympic Games. They 
desired, in their wisdom, that the judges of the 
Areopagus should assign to each of them the rank 
they occupy, according to their several degrees 
of influence on the happiness of men. Riches dis- 
played its magnificence, and already began to 



72 THE GEN1 US OF CHRISTIANITY. 

dazzle the eyes of the judges, when Voluptuous- 
ness brought down its merit by showing that the 
only end of Riches was to conduce to pleasure. 
Voluptuousness was applauded, but then Health 
rose, and easily proved that without it the great- 
est pleasures, the sweetest enjoyments, are bitter, 
and that, without Health, grief soon takes the 
place of joy. Then the Areopagites appeared de- 
cided in favor of the latter; but Virtue termin- 
ated the dispute, for she made all the Greeks ad- 
mit that riches, pleasure, and health do not last 
long, and that if they be not accompanied by 
Virtue, they become evils for those who do not 
know how to use them with discretion. At this 
discourse, so simple and so true, every one clapped 
their hands, and the first rank was accorded to 
Virtue, the second to Health." — Noel, Cat. de 



THE GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

In 1798, while the author of this work was re- 
siding in London, exiled from France by the 
horrors of the Revolution, and gaining a sub- 
sistence by the productions of his pen, which were 
tinctured with the skepticism and infidelity of 
the times, he was informed of the death of his 
venerable mother, whose last days had been em- 



THE GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 73; 

bittered by the recollection of his errors, and who* 
had left him, in her dying moments, a solemn ad- 
monition to retrace his steps. The thought of hav- 
ing saddened the old age of that tender and re- 
ligious parent who had borne him in her womb* 
overwhelmed him with confusion ; the tears 
gushed from his eyes, and the Christian senti- 
ments in which he had been educated returned 
under the impulses of a generous and affectionate 
heart : " 1 'wept and Ibelieved." But the trouble 
which harassed his mind did not entirely vanish, 
until he had formed the plan of redeeming his 
first publications by the consecration of his splen- 
did abilities to the honor of religion. Such was 
the origin of the Genius of Christianity , in the 
composition of which he labored with " all the 
ardor of a son who was erecting a mausoleum to 
his mother." 

The publication of such a work at such a time 
could not but enlist against it a powerful opposi- 
tion among the advocates of infidelity ; but its 
superior excellence and brilliant character ob- 
tained an easy triumph over the critics who had 
attempted to crush its influence. In two years it 
had passed through seven editions ; and such was 
the popularity it acquired, that it was translated 
into the Italian, German, and Russian languages. 
In France, the friends of religion hailed it as the 
olive branch of peace and hope — a messenger of 
heaven, sent forth to solace the general affliction, 



74 THE GENIUS OF CHRISTIANITY. 

to heal the wounds of so many desolate hearts, 
after the frightful deluge of impiety which had 
laid waste that unfortunate country. On the 
other hand, the wavering in faith, and even they 
who had been perverted by the sophistry of the 
times, were drawn to a profitable investigation of 
religion, by the new and irresistible charms that 
had been thrown around it. It cannot be denied 
that the Genius of Christianity exerted a most 
powerful and beneficial influence in Europe for 
the good of religion and the improvement of liter- 
ature. The eloquent Balmes has well said, " The 
mysterious hand which governs the universe 
seems to hold in reserve, for every great crisis of 

society, an extraordinary man Atheism 

was bathing France in a sea of tears and blood. 
An unknown man silently traverses the ocean, 
. . . . returns to his native soil." .... He 
finds there " the ruins and ashes of ancient tem- 
ples devoured by the flames or destroyed by vio- 
lence ; the remains of a multitude of innocent 
victims, buried in the graves which formerly af- 
forded an asylum to persecuted Christians. He 
observes, however, that something is in agitation : 
he sees that religion is about to redescend upon 
France, like consolation upon the unfortunate, or 
the breath of life upon a corpse. From that mo- 
ment he hears on all sides a concert of celestial 
harmony ; the inspirations of meditation and soli- 
tude revive and ferment in his great soul ; trans- 



CHARITY. 75 

ported out of himself, and ravished, into ecstasy, 
he sings with a tongue of fire the glories of reli- 
gion, he reveals the delicacy and beauty of the re- 
lations between religion and nature, and in sur- 
passing language he points out to astonished men 
the mysterious golden chain which connects the 
heavens and the earth. . That man was Qhateau> 
briand."— Charles I. White, D.D. 



CHARITY. 

(SUGGESTED BY DORE's " SPANISH BEGGARS.") 

Dona Inez was a lady, 

Very rich and fair to see, 
And her heart was like a lily 

In its holy purity ; 
Through the widest street in Cadiz 

Doha Inez rode one day, 
Clad in costly silk and laces, 

Mid a group of friends as gay. 

. Near the portals of a convent — 
From the Moors just lately won — 

Sat a crowd of dark-skinned beggars 
Basking in the pleasant sun ; 

One, an old man — he a Christian 
Blind to all the outward light — 



76 CHARITY. 

Told his black beads, praying softly 
For all poor souls still in night. 

" I am but a Moorish beggar," 

Said a woman with a child ; 
" I am but a Moorish beggar, 

And the Moors jare fierce and wild. 
You may talk of Christian goodness — 

Christian Faith and charity, 
But Til never be a Christian 

' Till some proof of these I see. 
Christians are as proud and haughty 

As the proudest Moor of all ; 
And they hate the men that hate them 
With a hate like bitter gall." 

"You judge rashly, my sister, 
In the words you speak tome." 

"I would be a Christian, blind man : 
Show me Christian charity ! 

" Lo ! here comes proud Doha Inez, 
Very rich and fair to see ; 
I am but a Moorish beggar, 
Will the lady come to me ? 

" No ! she will not, for she hateth 
All the children of the Moor. 
If she come, I tell you, blind man, 
I will kneel, and Christ adore !" 



LA HARPE \8_ CONVERSION. 77 

Passing was the Lady Inez, 

When the dark group met her eye, 
And she leant from out her litter 

Smiling on them tenderly. 
" They are poor, they are God's children " 

Said a voice within her soul, 
And she lightly from her litter 

Stepped to give the beggars dole. 

Sneered, and laughed, and laughing wond- 
ered 
All the other ladies gay ; 
And the Lady Inez knew not 
She had saved a soul that day. 
■From "Preludes" by Maurice F. Egan. 



LA HARPE' S CONVERSION. 

La Haepe was one of the most distinguished 
scholars of the last century, but at the same time 
one of the most impious philosophers. At the pe- 
riod of the Revolution he was arrested and thrown 
into prison. Alone there in a small room he began 
to reflect seriously, which had not happened to 
him, probably, for a long time. He also read some 
good books, amongst others the Psalms of David, 
the New Testament, and some others, but th*% 



78 LA HARPE'S CONVERSION. 

did not completely change "him. One day, weary 
of that state of uncertainty in which he was, he 
took up unthinkingly a book that lay on his 
mantel-piece: it was the Imitation. He opens 
it at random, and his eyes fall just on these words : 
"My son, behold, here I am ! I come to thee, be- 
cause thou hast called me." He had no need of 
reading farther ; he was so impressed, so struck 
by these words, that he fell on his knees, his face 
to the ground, the tears streaming from his eyes. 
His breast heaved with sighs, he groaned and 
cried aloud, and broken incoherent words escaped 
him ; and, in the midst of that sweet revulsion 
of feeling going on within him, his mind recurred 
incessantly to the words, My son, behold here I 
am. La Harpe was converted, and, as God did 
not permit that he should perish on the scaffold, 
he devoted the rest of his life to making good 
books to counteract, as far as possible, the effect 
of the bad ones he had had the misfortune to 
write before. The beautiful words that made an 
impious philosopher a fervent Christian are found, 
my dear friends, in the third book, twenty-first 
chapter ; read them over sometimes, recalling to 
mind what I have just told you. — Guillois, Nouv. 
Explic. du Cat., 254. 



THE A THEIST SA TING HIS BEADS. 79 



THE ATHEIST SAYING HIS BEADS. 

I confess to you, children, ifc is very convenient 
to play the sceptic and the free-thinker when peo- 
ple are well, and everything is going well with 
them ; but there are moments when, in spite of 
them, they return to better sentiments. The 
famous Volney was once on a voyage with some of 
his friends, off the coast of Maryland, in North 
America. All at once a great storm arose, and 
the little bark which bore the flower of the un- 
believers of both hemispheres, appeared twenty 
times on the point of being lost. In this im- 
minent peril every one began to pray ; M. de 
Volney himself snatched a rosary from a good 
woman near him, and began to recite Ave Marias 
with edifying fervor, nor ceased till the danger 
had passed. Some one approached him when the 
storm was over and said in a tone of good-natured 
raillery : " My dear sir, it seems to me that you 
were praying just now ; to whom, pray, did you 
address yourself, since you maintain that there 
is no God V ' "Ah! my friend,'- replied the 
philosopher, all ashamed, "one can be a sceptic 
in his study, but not at sea, in a storm." — Noel^ 
Catechisme de Rodez, L, 73. 



80 FUNERAL ORATION. 



FUNERAL ORATION OF THE PRINCE OF 
CONDE. 

Come now, you people ; or rather, come, 
princes and lords ; and you, who judge the earth ; 
and you, who open to men the gates of heaven ; 
and you, more than all, princes and princesses, 
noble progeny of so many kings, lights of France, 
but to-day obscured, and covered with your grief 
as with a cloud ; come and see the little that re- 
mains to us of "so august a birth, of so much great- 
ness, of so much glory. Cast your eyes on all 
sides ; behold all that magnificence and piety 
could do, to honor a hero ; titles, inscriptions, 
vain marks of that which is no more ; figures 
which seem to weep around a tomb, and frail im- 
ages of a grief which time bears away along with 
all the rest ; columns which seem as if they would 
raise to heaven the magnificent testimony of our 
nothingness : and nought in fine is wanted, amid 
all these honors, but he to whom they are given. 
W &p, then, over these feeble remains of human 
life ; weep over that sad immortality which we 
give to heroes. 

But approach, in particular, you who run with 
so much ardor in the career of glory ; warlike and 
intrepid souls ! Who was more worthy to com- 
mand you % yet in whom have you found authority 
more gentle ! Weep, then, for this great captain, 



FUNERAL OEATION. 81 

and say, with sighs. Behold him who was our 
leader in dangers ; under him have been formed 
so many renowned captains, whom his examples 
have raised to the first honors of war ; his shade 
could still gain victories ; and behold, now, in his 
silence, his very name animates, and at the same 
time warns us, that to find at death some rest 
from our labors, and not to arrive unprovided 
at our eternal dwelling, with the earthly king we 
must likewise serve the King of heaven. Serve, 
then, that King, immortal and so full of mercy, 
who will value a sigh and a glass of water given 
in His name, more than all others will ever do the 
effusion of all your blood ; and begin to date the 
time of your useful services from the day on which 
you shall have given yourself to a Master so be- 
neficent. 

For me, if it be allowed me, after all others, to 
come to render the last duties at this tomb, 
Prince, worthy subject of our eulogies and of our 
regrets, you shall live eternally in my memory ; 
your image shall there be traced, not with that 
boldness which promised victory ; no, I wil see 
nothing in you of that which is effaced by death. 
You shall have in this image immortal lineaments ; 
I shall there behold you such as you were at that 
last day under the hand of God, when His glory 
seemed already to appear to you. There I shall 
behold you more triumphant than at Fribourg 
and Rocroy ; and, ravished by a triumph so 



82 THE ASS UMPTION. 

splendid, I shall repeat, with thanksgiving, these 
beautiful words of the beloved disciple: u And 
this is the victory which overcometh the world, 
our faith." Enjoy, prince, this victory ; enjoy 
it eternally by the immortal virtue of this sacri- 
fice. Accept these last efforts of a voice which 
was known to you. You shall put an end to all 
these discourses. Instead of deploring the death 
of others, great Prince, henceforward I will learn 
of you to render my own holy. Happy, if, 
warned by these white hairs of the account which 
I am to render of my ministry, I reserve for the 
flock which I ought to nourish with the word of 
life, the remains of a faltering voice and of an 
ardor which will soon be extinguished. 

— Bossuet. 



THE ASSUMPTION. 

I cannot think they love the Lord aright, 
Or by His promised spirit have been taught, 
Who from His mother derogate in aught, 

And grudgingly withhold her sovereign right, 

And find one speck upon her shield of light, 
And deem the sacred vessel which has brought 
Incarnate God into the world is naught 

But dust still soddening in the crypts of night. 



TEE WIFE OF MARSHAL BE MOUCHY. 83 

"No ! rather let me cleave to what they say 
Who love the legends of the East to reap, 

That when Apostles on an August day 
Came to the spot where Mary fell on sleep, 

They found, where late her precious body lay, 
Naught but some fragrant lilies in a heap. 

— Earle. 



THE WIFE OF MAESHAL DE MOUCHY. 

Of all the victims who perished on the revolu- 
tionary scaffold in 1793, there are few who do not 
merit the admiration of all France. You may 
judge of this from the following fact: Marshal de 
Mouchy was sentenced to die on the scaffold; he 
mounted it courageously, pronouncing these em- 
phatic words: " At twenty I mounted the breach 
for my king, at eighty I mount the scaffold for my 
God." But listen: This venerable old man had 
been arrested, and conducted, like so many 
others, to the prison of the Luxembourg, in 
Paris. He was scarcely there when his wife went 
to join him. She is told that the accusation 
makes do mention of her; but she answers in a de- 
cided tone: "Since my husband is arrested, so 
am I." M. de Mouchy is brought before the rev- 
olutionary tribunal; she accompanies him. The 
public accuser warns her that he did not send 



84 THE SE1QE OF WEINSBERO. 

for her. ' i Since my husband is summoned before 
your tribunal, so am I." At length, the famous 
Marshal is condemned to death, and the cour- 
ageous wife ascends the fatal cart with him. 
" But you are not condemned," says the execu- 
tioner to her. ' ' Since my husband is condemned, 
so am I." ISTo other answer could be drawn from 
this admirable woman, and it was found neces- 
sary to employ force to make her descend from 
the scaffold. Is not this what may be called 
the literal acceptation of those words of Our 
Lord: A woman shall leave Tier father and her 
mother, and cleave unto her husband f Oh ! 
happy are the families which have at their head 
a man and woman so well adapted to each other ! 
— Mlassier, Diet. Hist, d) Educ.^ I., 125. 



THE SEIGE OF WEINSBERG. 

The Duke of Wurtemburg had strongly op- 
posed the election of Conrad III., who was pro- 
claimed Emperor in 1138. That did not jjrevent 
the election from being confirmed. When the 
new monarch had assumed the diadem, the Duke 
of Wurtemburg refused to recognize him, and 
shut himself up in the fortress of Weinsberg, the 
strongest in the whole duchy of Wurtemburg. 



THE PARGUINOTES. 85 

He was besieged there by the imperial army, but 
withstood for twelve days the attack of his 
sovereign with a bravery truly heroic. Afc length 
he was obliged to yield to superior strength. The 
Emperor, much exasperated, would have de- 
stroyed all before him ; he even intended to 
slaughter every living being. Nevertheless, on 
the remonstrances of his council, he pardoned the 
women, and permitted them to carry off what 
they most valued, but insisted on their leaving 
the town immediately. The Duchess availed her- 
self of this permission to save her husband's life; 
She took him on her back, and so quitted the 
town. All the other women did as much, and 
Conrad saw them go forth loaded with this pre- 
cious burden, the Duchess at their head. He 
could not withstand a sight so touching ; yield- 
ing to the admiration it caused him, he forgave 
the husbands for the sake of their wives ; the 
whole town was saved. — Filassier, Diet. Hist. 
d'Muc, I. s 229. 



THE PARGUHSTOTES. 

The small town of Parga, on the coast of Epirus, 
which maintained its independence for ages, under 
the protection of the Venetian republic, and which 
boldly contested for liberty for six months against 



8(j THE PARGUINOTES. 

the Turks, was, by a treaty, in which the British 
nation was a party, ceded to their most inveterate 
and deadly enemies. This event took place in 1814. 
Stipulations of a favorable kind were made in be- 
half of the Parguinotes ; and it was agreed that 
every one, who would rather withdraw from his 
country, than trust to the faithless promises of Ali 
Pacha — for to him they were then ceded — was to 
have the privilege of retiring, and to have the value 
of his property paid to him by the Albanian tyrant. 

When the commissioners of Great Britain and 
the Porte first met to ascertain what portion of the 
natives chose to relinquish their country, or share 
in its disgrace, they were called one by one, with 
the greatest formality, before the two commis- 
sioners ; and all, without exception, declared that, 
rather than submit to the Ottoman authority, they 
would forever abandon their country, were they 
even to lose all they possessed. They added, that, 
in quitting the land of their birth, they Would dis- 
inter, and carry away the bones of their fore- 
fathers, that they might not have to reproach 
themselves with having left those sacred relics to 
the most cruel enemies of their race. 

One of the Parguinotes (named G-lanchi Zulla), 
who was deaf and dumb, being interrogated, in 
his turn, as to the course which he proposed to 
take, and having ascertained what was signified 
to him, indignantly turned to the Turkish commis- 
sioner, and by the most energetic and unequivocal 



THE PABG U1N0TES. 87 

gestures, gave him to understand, that he would 
never remain under the dominion of the Pacha ! 
Three years afterwards, the Parguinotes were 
again assembled, and again expressed their deter- 
mination not to live under the yoke of the Turks. 
At length, in June, 1819, it was determined to 
enforce the cession ; and the British commissioner 
informed the Parguinotes, that, in conformity 
with the arrangements with Ali Pacha, a Turkish 
force was to enter their territory without delay. 

The Parguinotes having held a consultation, sent 
to inform the commandant, that, as such was the 
determination of the British commissioner, they 
had unanimously resolved, that should one single 
Turk enter their territory, before all of them 
should have had a fair opportunity of leaving it, 
they would put to death their wives and children, 
and then defend themselves against any force, 
Christian or Turkish, that should violate the 
pledge made to them, and that they would fight 
until one only should survive to tell the story. 

The English commandant, perceiving by their 
preparations, that their resolution was irrevoca- 
ble, despatched General Sir Frederick Adam to 
expostulate with them. The officer, on his ar- 
rival at Parga, observed a large fire in the public 
square, where the inhabitants had heaped to- 
gether the bones of their ancestors, collected from 
the churches and cemeteries. 

All the male population stood armed at the doors 



88 THE PARG UWOTES. 

of their respective dwellings ; the women and 
children were within awaiting their fate ; a 
gloomy and awful silence prevailed. A few of the 
primates, with the protopata at their head, received 
General Adam on his landing, and assured him, 
that the meditated sacrifice would be immediately 
made, unless he could stop the entrance of the 
Turks, who had already arrived near their front- 
ier, and effectually protect their embarkation and 
departure. 

Fortunately, Sir Frederick Adam found means 
to prevail on the Turkish commandant to halt with 
his force. The embarkation then commenced, 
and alltheParguinotes proceeded to Corfu. The 
Turks, on their entrance, found Parga a desert ; 
and the only signal that marked their reception, 
was the smoke of the funeral pile, in which its late 
inhabitants had consumed the bones of their fore- 
fathers. The unfortunate emigrants waited at 
Corfu, as houseless wanderers, the distribution of 
the miserable pittance of £48 per head, which had 
been awarded to them, as a compensation for 
the los^ of their property, their social endear- 
ment^ ^nd their country 



THE BOSARY. 89 



THE ROSARY ; 

Of all the forms of devotion to the Blessed Vir- 
gin, the Rosary recommends itself by its peculiar 
excellence. It unites the various merits of mental 
and of vocal prayer. The attention is recalled 
from the distracting cares of life, and directed 
heavenwards by the recital of one of those stu- 
pendous and incomprehensible acts of love which 
the Man-God displayed towards us, or of the 
heroic virtues and sublime dignity which He has 
bestowed on His Virgin Mother. And when the 
better feelings of nature are touched, and the 
mind lifted from the grovelling pursuits of earth, 
and the heart laid open for every salutary im- 
pression, then is the petition taught by the Re- 
deemer Himself, poured forth before the throne 
of mercy, and the ever Blessed Virgin is repeat- 
edly entreated to intercede for us, with her Son, 
that we may obtain the objects of that petition, as 
well as every other blessing. The prayer con- 
cludes by glorifying the three Persons of the God- 
head, and thus professing our faith in the leading 
tenet of Christianity. 

In this there is nothing over-refined or far- 
fetched. It is suited to the capacities of all. 
The Christian philosopher has delighted in its 
simple beauty, and the poor slave has solaced 
many a weary hour by reciting it, and thinking 



90 THE ROSARY. 

over the glad tidings it announces, that those who 
are despised and trampled under foot by the law- 
less wantonness of power, are dearer far to the Re- 
deemer than the haughty and unfeeling tyrant ; 
that the path of sufferings, hallowed by the foot- 
steps of God, is the path to a glorious throne ; 
and that there is a world beyond the grave, where 
the injustice of this shall cease, and a crown of 
immortality be the reward of those who in meek 
resignation to the dispensations of their heavenly 
Father, have borne patiently the afflictions of 
this short and, at best, miserable existence. 

No wonder that such a form of prayer should 
have spread Throughout every kingdom of the 
globe. No wonder that every Catholic worthy 
of the name, takes care to teach it to his children, 
and recites it every evening in the bosom of his 
family. No wonder that during the last six cent- 
uries, countless millions have enrolled themselves 
in the association whose object it is to repeat 
this prayer, and to learn from it lessons of the 
purest and most exalted virtues. No wonder 
that the Church, exulting in their devotion, and 
consoled, amidst the deluge of iniquity that al- 
most covers the earth, by their regular attendance 
at the sacraments, their zeal for religion, their 
fraternal charity and unfeigned humility, should 
have profusely bestowed on them the treasures 
of merits confided to her keeping, by granting 
them numberless indulgences ; or that to their 



DESTR UGTION OF PA GAN ROME. Q 1 

prayers she ascribes one of the most signal vic- 
tories of modern times, the victory which, at 
Lepanto, broke down the power of the Mussulman, 
and hindered the blind and sensual superstition 
of Mahommed from effacing every trace of civili- 
zation and piety on the earth. — Rev. J. P. Leahy. 



DESTRUCTION OF PAGAN ROME. 

c-ToTiLA, 1^ Gfoth," says Procopius (who 
served in the staff of Belisarius, and was his sec- 
retary), "determined to level Rome with the 
ground, and make the region where it stood a 
place of pasturage for flocks and herds." Prep- 
arations were made to overturn the monuments 
and trophies that still survived so many ravages, 
and to destroy the palaces and tern pies by fire. 
These he spared, at the instance of an embassy 
sc n" by Belisarius, from where he lay with the 
forces of the Greek Emperor at Ostia ; but the 
walls he caused to be in great part demolished, 
and carried away as captives the miserable 
remnant of the senate and the Roman people, 
with their wives and children. He suffered no 
one to remain behind, so that the city was a per- 
fect solitude. The Chronicle of Marcellinus adds, 
that for forty days and upwards Rome had no 



92 DESTR UCTION OF PAGAN ROME. 

inhabitants but wild beasts and birds of prey. 
It was towards the close of this interval, that 
Belisarius felt a desire to visit and survey with 
his own eyes, the ruins of a place that had been 
the theatre of so much grandeur and renown ; 
and with this view, he sallied forth from the sea- 
port at the head of a strong squadron of his guards. 

A marble wilderness extended on every side, 
as far as the eye could reach, strewed with the 
ruins of Yitruvian villas, temples, and aqueducts ; 
the waste waters of the latter had filled all the 
valleys, and overflowed the low grounds of the 
Campagna, converting into marshes and mant- 
ling pools, those regions which, erewhile, had 
abounded with all the delights of the Hesperides. 
The thoroughfares of the nations were silent and 
lonely as the double line of tombs through 
which they passed. The towers and inscriptions 
over the gates had been torn down, and their 
bronze portals carried off in the plunder- train of 
the barbarian. The rock-built walls of Rome 
lay low ; and the tramp of their war-horses was 
muffled by the grass, as Belisarius and his troops 
rode under a succession of dismantled arches, 
down towards the forum, along the "sacred 
way." 

The fox looked out from the casements of the 
Palatine, and barked sharply at the intruders as 
they rode on ; wolves prowled through the vacant 
streets, or littered in the palace halls ; wild dogs 



DESTR UCTION OF PA OAN ROME. 93 

hunted, in packs, through the great circus, 
through the baths, along the Campus Martius, 
and on to the gardens of Sallust and MercaBnas, 
through the promenades of the Suburra. Out- 
landish beasts — as if escaped from the menageries 
and keeps of the amphitheatres — lay sleeping and 
enjoying themselves in the sunshine of the por- 
ticoes, or tore one another to pieces, as the fac- 
tions had done of old, around the rostrum, and 
in the assembly-place of the people ; others 
growled and snarled, and gloated over the un- 
buried carcasses and whitening skeletons of the 
dead. Ravens and vultures desisted from feed- 
ing their sanguinary nestlings, to hoot the war- 
riors, as they wound slowly among the prostrate 
columns and entablatures of temples that en- 
cumbered the ascent to the capitol, or, starting 
from their perching-place on trophy and triumphal 
arch, hovered and flapped their sable wings above 
the plumage of their helmets. Once more, the 
Roman eagle soars above the Tarpeian tower — 
that eyrie from whence, for a thousand years, it 
had flown forth to carnage ; and the martial 
bugle makes the field of Mars resound again. 
But instead of the warlike response of legions — 
clamoring to be lead against the Samnite or the 
Parthian — there broke out a hideous medley of 
yells and howling, yelp, bark, and roar, out- 
topped by the shrill cries of ill-omened birds, 
startled from their roosts in the sanctuary recesses, 



94 DESTR UCTION OF PA QAN HOME. 

and from the niches and corners of the senate 
house. The warriors listened for some human 
sound. In vain they listened, and listened again ! 
There was the Palatine, the forum, the capitol, 
the Campus Martius, and the Tiber, flowing 
under the beauteous summer sky beneath the 
Tarpeian cliff: but the legions, the emperors, 
the senate, and the Roman people, where were 
they \ When that savage uproar had at last sub- 
sided save a casual outbreak of a howl or bark 
reverberating dismally among the ruins, and along 
the valleys and the river banks, all within the 
boundaries of the seven hills was again as silent 
as the grave ! 

Never had mortal eye beheld a catastrophe more 
impressive. Fortune had turned back upon her 
steps, and made it her sport to reverse everything, 
upon that very scene, where, beyond all others, 
men had become elated with imagining that she 
had, at length, descended from her slippery globe 
forever, and fixed her perpetual sojourn. But 
it would seem as if she lured the Romans to the 
highest pinnacle of grandeur and felicity, only to 
render their downfall the more tremendous— had 
helped them to build up testimonials of boundless 
empire, and to stamp a character of eternity upon 
their works, merely that the vouchers of her own 
instability might endure forever. 

After being deified by the prostrate earth and 
having temples, and priests, and altars, conse- 



DESTR UGT10N OF PAGAN ROME. 95 

crated for their worship, the emperors of Eome 
were led about as harlequins to grace the triumph 
and contribute mirth to the carousals of the Goths. 
The iron legions, that had trodden down the na- 
tions, had been trodden down in their turn. 
The slave had seen his tyrant lord a sup- 
pliant at his feet for life, at his gate for 
bread ; to escape from dignities, for which the 
Gracchi, the Scipios and Caesars had contended, 
men of patrician lineage had themselves branded 
and ranked as slaves. To be a Roman, once a 
distinction prouder than that of royalty, had be- 
come the vilest badge of infamy. The lords of 
palaces that resembled cities, and of estates that 
included kingdoms within their limits, saw them- 
selves without a home or a rood of land. "In 
this revolution, the sons and daughters of Roman 
consuls tasted the misery which they had so often 
spurned or relieved, wandered in tattered gar- 
ments through the streets of the city, and begged 
for the most sordid pittance, perhaps without 
success, before the gates of their hereditary man- 
sions ;" others expired- of famine upon silken 
couches, amid halls of more than regal splendor, 
or were led away (a lot still more insupportable) 
to minister to the rude conquerors, amid devas- 
tated villas and gardens, that reminded them of 
many a bright summer time passed in dalliance 
and enjoyment. To the very weft, the Fates 
had unravelled their most gorgeous tissue, and 



96 THE AMERICAN INDIAN. 

from the ruins of the Palatine and the capitol, 
had abandoned the fame of kings, consuls and 
emperors to the scoffing winds. 

Even the memorials of her ancient glories served, 
and that not a little, to multiply and increase the 
calamities of Rome. The sight of them infuriated 
the barbarians. They made it a sacred duty to 
slaughter the craving multitudes they found loit- 
ering round and boasting alliances with monu- 
ments, intended to perpetuate the memory of the 
injuries and insults inflicted by their sires upon 
humanity ; and it would seem as if so many mil- 
lions had been gathered into one place, by allure- 
ments of largesses, shows, and every sensual in- 
dulgence, that the scythe of the destroyer might 
mow them down with the greater facility and ex- 
pedition. The metropolis of the nations had be- 
come their sepulchre ; and the soil of their 
pampered bodies fattened and almost filled up the 
valleys of the seven hills.— Dr. Miley. 



THE REASONING OF AN AMERICAN 
INDIAN. 

Speaking of the truth, "out of the Church 
there is no salvation," I remember a very 
amusing story, related by Father de Smet, the 



THE AMERICAN INDIAN. 97 

famous American missionary. " Amongst the 
Indians converted on the frontiers of Canada," 
said he, "is a certain Jean Baptiste, of whose 
family I am ignorant. This Jean Baptiste had 
been formerly a thief. On his conversion, the 
Black Robe enjoined him to make restitution of 
two dollars to a Calvinist minister in the neigh- 
borhood. Our man presents himself at the min- 
ister s house, when the following dialogue ensues: 

* Well, what do you want V said the preacher. 
4 Me rob you. Black Robe say to me, " Jean 
Baptiste, you give back the money." 'What 
money?' 'Two dollars; me bad savage, take 
from you — me now good Christian; me have the 
water of baptism on my head; me child of the 
Great Spirit. Here, take the money.' 'That is 
well. Steal no more. Good-day, Jean Baptiste.' 

* Good-day not enough ; me want something 
else.' 'And what do you want?' 'Me want a 
receipt.' * A receipt ! what need is there of a re- 
ceipt ? Did the Black Robe tell you to ask it ?' 
' Black Robe say nothing; Jean Baptiste (point- 
ing at himself with his finger) want a receipt.' 
'But what do you want with a receipt? You 
stole from me what you now give back; that is 
enough.' 'No, no, not enough; listen, you old, 
me young; you die first, me die after, you un- 
derstand?' 'I do not understand; what do you 
mean ?' 'Listen again; that will say much, that 
will say all. Me knock at the gate of heaven, the 



98 PASS THAT TO TOUR NEIGHBOR. 

great chief, St. Peter, he open and he say, "That 
you, Jean Baptiste? what you want?" " My 
chief, me want to go in the lodge of the Great 
Spirit." "And your sins ?" "Black Robe he 
forgive them all." "But you rob the minis- 
ter — did you give back that money % You show 
me your receipt." Now you see how it is with 
poor Jean Baptiste, poor Indian with no receipt, 
he run all over hell to find you, because no sal- 
vation out of Black Robe's Church.'" — Daily 
Rewards (Recompenses hebdomadaires), No. 
CV., 29. 



PASS THAT TO YOUR NEIGHBOR. 

Regakding the sanctiiication of festivals, I will 
tell you a rather amusing anecdote which I read 
in the Magazin Pittoresque. The Duke of 
Brunswick, Charles William, who lived some 
threescore years ago, very properly attached 
great importance to the religious observance of 
Sundays and holydays. One day, he learns that 
some villagers had the bad habit of assembling 
at the time of divine service in a tavern, and 
spending in drinking all the time they should 
have passed hearing Mass and instructions, or 
assisting at Yespers. The exhortations of the 
■oriest, even the remonstrances of the magistrates, 



PASS THAT TO YOUR NEIGHBOR. 99 

had not been able to break these topers off their evil 
habit. The Duke, attired in a coarse overcoat, but- 
toned up to the chin, repairs one Sunday to the inn 
pointed out to him. Just as the bell was calling 
the faithful to church, arrives the troop of tip- 
plers, preceded by a large, heavy personage who, 
by his rubicund nose and flaming red face, might 
easily be recognized as the president of the jolly 
band. He sits down at the upper end of the table, 
and without a word said, places the duke beside 
him, not, however, without throwing a look of 
distrust on this guest, whom no one remembered 
having seen there before. Meanwhile the inn- 
keeper sets before the president an enormous 
pitcher of brandy. The latter takes it in his two 
hands, swallows a good draught and gives it to 
the Duke, saying : " Pass that to your neighbor !" 
The pitcher thus makes the circuit of the table, 
then returns to the president, who after having 
given it a cordial embrace, puts it again into cir- 
culation. Each guest lays hold of it in turn with 
right.good will, and hands it to the next saying : 
"Pass that to your neighbor." At the third 
round of the blessed pitcher, the duke rises in a 
fury, and, unbuttoning his overcoat, so as to let 
all present see his well known uniform and the 
insigna of royalty, then strikes the president 
wiih all his might, saying: "Pass that to your 
neighbor!" As the latter hesitated, the Duke 
seizes his sword and cries out so loud that no one 



100 DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 

could possibly be mistaken: u Let any of you 
that strikes too light or too slowly beware of me, 
for I will make an example of him !" At these 
words, every arm rises, blows fall like rain from 
one end of the table to the other, five or six times 
in succession, till at length the Duke, satisfied 
with the punishment he had inflicted on this in- 
corrigible set of topers, leaves them to themselves 
and retires to his palace. They say, and I can 
easily believe it, that on the following Sunday, 
not one of them was tempted to go to the tavern; 
on the contrary, they were amongst the first to 
go to church, both at Mass and Vespers. — Maga- 
zin Pittoresque, 1844, p. 208. 



DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 

Next morning, being Friday, the third day of 
August, in the year 1492, Columbus set sail, a 
little before sunrise, in presence of a vast crowd 
of spectators, who sent up their supplications to 
Heaven for the prosperous issue of the voyage, 
which they wished rather than expected. Col- 
umbus steered directly for the Canary Islands, 
and arrived there without any occurrence that 
would have deserved notice on any other occasion. 



DISCOVERT OF AMERICA. 101 

But in a voyage of such expectation and impor- 
tance, every circumstance was the object of at- 
tention. . . . 

Upon the 1st of October they were, according 
to the admiral's reckoning, seven hundred and 
seventy leagues to the west of the Canaries. They 
had now been above three weeks at sea ; they had 
proceeded far beyond what former navigators had 
attempted or deemed possible ; all their prognos- 
tics of discovery, drawn from the flight of birds 
and other circumstances, had proved fallacious ; 
the appearances of land, which had from time to 
time flattered and amused them, had been alto- 
gether illusive, and their prospect of success 
seemed now to be as distant as ever. These re- 
flections occurred often to men who had no other 
object or occupation than to reason and discourse 
concerning the intention and circumstances of 
their expedition. They made impression at first 
upon the ignorant and timid, and extending by 
degrees to such as were better informed or more 
resolute, the contagion spread at length from ship 
to ship. From secret whispers or murmurings 
they proceeded to open cabals and public com- 
plaints. They taxed their sovereign with inconsid- 
erate credulity, in paying such regard to the vain 
promises and rash conjectures of an indigent for- 
eigner, as to hazard the lives of so many of her 
own subjects in prosecuting a chimerical scheme. 
They affirmed that they had fully performed their 



102 DISCOVERY OF AMERICA. 

duty by venturing so far in an unknown and 
hopeless course, and could incur no blame for re- 
fusing to follow any longer a desperate adventurer 
to certain destruction. . . . 

Columbus was fully sensible of his perilous sit- 
uation. He had observed, with great uneasiness, 
the fatal operation of ignorance and of fear in 
producing disaffection among his crew, and saw 
that it was now ready to burst out into open mu- 
tiny. He retained, however, perfect presence of 
mind. He affected to seem ignorant of their ma- 
chinations. Notwithstanding the agitation and 
solicitude of his own mind, he appeared with a 
cheerful countenance, like a man satisfied with 
the progress he had made, and confident of suc- 
cess. Sometimes he employed all the arts of in- 
sinuation to soothe his men. Sometimes he en- 
deavored to work upon their ambition or avarice 
by magnificent descriptions of the fame and wealth 
which they were about to acquire. On other oc- 
casions he assumed a tone of authority, and 
threatened them with vengeance from their sov- 
ereign if, by their dastardly behavior, they should 
defeat this noble effort to promote the glory of 
God and to exalt the Spanish name above that of 
every other nation. Even with seditious sailors, 
the words of a man whom they had been accus- 
tomed to reverence, were weighty and persuasive, 
and not only restrained them from those violent 
excesses which they meditated, but prevailed 



DISCO VER T OF AMERICA. 103 

with them to accompany their admiral for some 
time longer. 

As they proceeded, the indications of approach- 
ing land seemed to be more certain, and excited 
hope in proportion. The birds began to appear 
in flocks, making towards the south-west. Col- 
umbus, in imitation of the Portuguese navigators, 
who had been guided in several of their discover- 
ies by the motion of birds, altered his course from 
due west towards that quarter whither they 
pointed their flight. But, after holding on for sev- 
eral days in this new direction, without any better 
success than formerly, having seen no object dur- 
ing thirty days but the sea and the sky, the hopes 
of his companions subsided faster than they had 
risen ; their fears revived with additional force ; 
impatience, rage, and despair appeared in every 
countenance ; all sense of subordination was lost. 
The officers, who had hitherto concurred with 
Columbus in opinion, and supported his author- 
ity, now took part with the private men ; they as- 
sembled tumultuously on the deck, expostulated 
with their commander, mingled threats with their 
expostulations, and required him instantly to 
tack about and turn to Europe. Columbus per- 
ceived that it would be impossible to rekindle any 
zeal for the success of the expedition among men 
in whose breasts fear had extinguished every 
generous sentiment. He saw that it was no less 
vain to think of employing either gentle or severe 



104 DISCO VERY OF AMERICA. 

measures to quell a mutiny so general and so vio- 
lent. It was necessary, on all these accounts, to 
soothe passions which he could no longer com- 
mand, and to give way to a torrent too impetuous 
to be checked. He promised solemnly to his men 
that he would comply with their request, pro- 
vided they would accompany him and obey his 
command for three days longer, and if, during 
that time, land were not discovered, he would 
then abandon the enterprise, and direct his course 
towards Spain. 

Enraged as the sailors were, and impatient to 
turn their faces again towards their native coun- 
try, this proposition did not appear to them un- 
reasonable ; nor did Columbus hazard much in 
confining himself to a term so short. The pres- 
ages of discovering land were now so numerous 
and promising that he deemed them infallible. 
For some days the sounding-line reached the 
bottom, and the soil which it brought up indica- 
ted land to be at no great distance. The flocks of 
birds increased, and were composed not only of 
sea-fowl, but of such land-birds as could not be 
supposed to fly far from the shore. The crew of the 
Pinta observed a cane floating, which seemed to 
have been newly cut, and likewise a piece of tim- 
ber artificially carved. The- sailors aboard the 
JSfigna took up the branch of a tree with red ber- 
ries perfectly fresh. The clouds around the set- 
ting sun assumed a new appearance ; the air was 



DISCO VER Y OF AMERICA. 105 

more mild and warm, and during the night the 
wind became unequal and variable. From all these 
symptoms, Columbus was so confident of being 
near land, that on the evening of the eleventh of 
October, after public prayers for success, he or- 
dered the sails to be furled, and the ships to lie 
to, keeping strict watch lest they should be driven 
ashore in the night. During this interval of sus- 
pense and expectation, no man shut his eyes, all 
kept on deck, gazing intently towards that quar- 
ter where they expected to discover the land, 
which had so long been the object of their wishes. 
About two hours before midnight, Columbus, 
standing in the forecastle, observed a light at a 
distance, and privately pointed it out to Pedro 
Guttierez, a page of the queen's wardrobe. Gut- 
tierez perceived it and calling to Salcedo, comp- 
troller of the fleet, all three saw it in motion, 
as it were carried from place to place. A little 
after midnight the joyful sound of " Land ! 
Land !" was heard from the Pinta which kept 
always ahead of the other ships. But having been 
so often deceived by fallacious appearances, every 
man was now become slow of belief, and waited 
in all the anguish of uncertainty and impatience 
for the return of day. As soon as morning dawned, 
all doubts and fears were dispelled. From every 
ship an island was seen two leagues to the north, 
whose flat and verdant fields, well stored with 
wood, and watered with rivulets, presented the 



106 DISCO VER T OF AMERICA. 

aspect of a delightful country. The crew of 
the Pinta instantly began the " Te Denm," as a 
hymn of thanksgiving to God, and were joined 
by those of the other ships, with tears of joy 
and transports of congratulation. This office of 
gratitude to Heaven was followed by an act of 
justice to their commander. They threw them- 
selves at the feet of Columbus, with feelings of 
self-condemnation, mingled with reverence. They 
implored him to pardon their ignorance, incredul- 
ity, and insolence, which had created him so 
much unnecessary disquiet, and had so often 
obstructed the prosecution of his well -concerted 
plans ; and passing, in the warmth of their ad- 
miration, from one extreme to another, they 
now pronounced the man whom they had so lately 
reviled and threatened, to be a person inspired 
by Heaven with sagacity and fortitude more than 
human, in order to accomplish a design so far be- 
yond the ideas and conceptions of all former ages. 
As soon as the sun arose, all their boats were 
manned and armed. They rowed towards the 
island with their colors displayed, with warlike 
music, and other martial pomp. As they ap- 
proached the coast, they saw it covered with a 
multitude of people, wl om the novelty of the 
spectacle had drawn together, whose attitudes 
and gestures expressed wonder and astonishment 
at the strange objects which presented themselves 
to their view. Columbus was the first European 



DISCO VERT OF AMERICA. 107 

who set foot on the new world which he had dis- 
covered. He landed in a rich dress, and with a 
naked sword in his hand. His men followed, 
and, kneeling down, they all kissed the ground 
which they had so long desired to see. They 
next erected a crucifix, and prostrating them- 
selves before it, returned thanks to G-od for con- 
ducting their voyage to such a happy issue. 
They then took solemn possession of the country 
for the crown of Castile and Leon, with all the 
formalities which the Portuguese were accus- 
tomed to observe in acts of this kind in their 
new discoveries. 

The Spaniards, while thus employed, were sur- 
rounded by many of the natives, who gazed in 
silent admiration upon actions which they could 
not comprehend, and of which they did not fore- 
see the consequences. The dress of the Span- 
iards, the whiteness of their skins, their beards, 
their arms, appeared strange and surprising. The 
vast machines in which they had traversed the 
ocean, that seemed to move upon the waters with 
wings and uttered a dreadful sound resembling 
thunder, accompanied by lightning and smoke, 
struck them with such terror that they began to 
respect their new guests as a superior order of 
beings, and concluded that they were children 
of the sun, who had descended to visit the earth. 

The Europeans were hardly less amazed at the 
scene now before them. Every herb and shrub and 



108 DISCO VER T OF AMERICA. 

tree was different from those that flourished in 
Europe. The soil seemed to be rich, but bore 
few marks of cultivation. The climate, even to the 
Spaniards, felt warm, though extremely delight- 
ful. The inhabitants appeared in the simple in- 
nocence of nature. Their black hair, long and 
uncurled, floated upon their shoulders, or was 
bound in tresses on their heads. They had no 
beards, and every part of their bodies was per- 
fectly smooth. Their complexion was of a dusky 
copper color; their features singular rather than 
disagreeable, their aspect gentle and timid. 
Though not tall they were well shaped and active. 
Their faces and several parts of their bodies, 
were fantastically painted with glaring colors. 
They were shy at first, through fear, but soon be- 
came familiar with the Spaniards, and with trans- 
ports of joy received from them haw-bells, glass 
beads, or other baubles ; in return for which 
they gave such provisions as they had, and some 
cotton yarn, the only commodity of value which 
they could produce. Towards evening Colum- 
bus returned to his ship accompanied by many 
of the islanders in their boats, which they 
called canoes, and though rudely formed out of 
the trunk of a single tree, they rode them with 
surprising dexterity. Thus, in the first interview 
between the inhabitants of the old and new worlds 
everything was conducted amicably and to their 
mutual satisfaction. — Robertson. 



CHIVALRY. 109 



CHIVALRY. 

The same spirit of enterprise which had 
prompted so many gentlemen to take arms in 
defence of the oppressed pilgrims of Palestine, 
incited others to declare themselves the patrons 
and avengers of injured innocence at home. 
When the final reduction of the Holy Land under 
the dominion of infidels put an end to these 
foreign expeditions, the latter was the only 
employment left for the activity and courage of 
adventurers. To check the insolence of over- 
grown oppressors ; to rescue the helpless from 
captivity ; to protect or to avenge women, orphans 
and ecclesiastics, who could not bear arms in their 
own defence ; to redress wrongs and remove griev* 
ances ; were deemed acts of the highest prowess 
and merit. Valor, humanity, courtesy, justice, 
honor were the characteristic qualities of chivalry. 
Men were trained to knighthood by a long pre- 
vious discipline ; they were admitted into the 
Order by solemnities no less devout than pompous, 
every person of noble birth courted that honor; 
it was deemed a distinction superior to royalty ; 
and monarchs were proud to receive it from the 
hands of private gentlemen. 

The singular institution, in which valor, gal- 
lantry, and religion were so strangely blended, was 
wonderfully adapted to the taste and genius of 



HO CHIVALRY. 

martial nobles : and its effects were soon visible 
in their manners. War was carried on with less 
ferocity when humanity came to be deemed the 
ornament of knighthood no less than courage. 
More gentle and polished manners were introduced 
when courtesy was recommended as the most 
amiable of knightly virtues. Yiolence and op- 
pression decreased when it was reckoned meritor- 
ious to check and to punish them. A scrupulous 
adherence to truth, with the most religious atten- 
tion to fulfil every engagement, became the 
distinguishing characteristic of a gentleman ; be- 
cause chivalry was regarded as the school of honor, 
and inculcated the most delicate sensibility with 
respect to these points. The admiration of those 
qualities, together with the high distinctions and 
prerogatives conferred on knighthood in every 
part of Europe, inspired persons of noble birth 
on some occasions with a species of military 
fanaticism, and led them to extravagant enter- 
prises. But they deeply imprinted on their minds 
the principles of generosity and honor. These were 
strengthened by everything that can affect the 
senses or touch the heart. The wild exploits of 
those romantic knights who sallied forth in quest of 
adventures are well known. The political and per- 
manent effects of the spirit of chivalry have been 
less observed. Perhaps the humanity which 
accompanies all the operations of war, the re- 
finements of gallantry, and the point of honor — 



NAPOLEON'S MARSHALS. m 

the three chief circumstances which distinguish 
modern from ancient manners — may be ascribed in 
a great measure to this institution, which has ap- 
peared whimsical to superficial observers, but by 
its effects has proved of great benefit to mankind. 
The sentiments which chivalry inspired had a 
wonderful influence on manners and conduct dur- 
ing the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, and fif- 
teenth centuries. They were so deeply rooted, 
that they continued to operate after the vigor 
and reputation of the institution itself began to 
decline. — Robertson. 



NAPOLEON'S MARSHALS WHO ROSE 
FROM THE RANKS. 

Among the most remarkable traits of the gen- 
ius of the great Napoleon, was the faculty he pos- 
sessed of intuitively discovering the merits of his 
subordinate officers, and the promptitude with 
which he availed himself of their talents by em- 
ploying them in the positions best suited to their 
respective capacities. This contributed in no 
small degree to those military successes which as- 
tonished his contemporaries, and which had no 
parallel in the history of the world. 

Never was a commander abler served, and never 



112 NAPOLEON'S MARSHALS. 

had soldiers a more generous and discriminating 
leader. JSTo wonder that his memory is revered 
in France, notwithstanding all the terrible sacri- 
fices which his insatiable ambition called upon 
her to make in the name of glory. 

Nearly all Napoleon's most distinguished gen- 
erals were of humble origin, and rose from the 
ranks of the republican army by the force of that 
inborn genius which only great occasions like the 
French revolution can develop. 

Thus Bernadotte, the most fortunate of all 
those generals, and the only permanent monarch 
created by the revolution, was an attorney's son 
who at the age of fifteen enlisted as a private in the 
royal marines. When the revolution broke out, 
he had served ten years and was still but a ser- 
geant ; but four years after we find him a general 
of division, and his good fortune adhered to him 
until he was finally crowned king of Sweden. 

Massena, " the favored child of victory," was at 
first a sailor boy, and subsequently a full private, 
and had served fourteen years previous to the 
revolution, without obtaining a higher rank than 
that of sergeant, when he left the army in disgust 
at not being able to obtain a sub-lieutenancy. The 
revolution, however, recalled him, and from 1793 he 
was general of division. In 1796 he was with the 
army of Italy, and so effectual did Bonaparte con- 
sider his co-operation, that, on one occasion, he 
wrote to him : " Your corps is stronger than those 



NAPOLEON'S MARSHALS. H3 

of the other generals ; your own services are equiv- 
alent to six thousand men/' 

On the same day that Napoleon became em- 
peror, Massena found himself a marshal of 
France. 

Michael Ney, the " bravest of the brave," was 
the son of a poor cooper ; at the age of seventeen 
he enlisted as a private in the hussars. In 1793 
he was appointed lieutenant, and rose rapidly, 
until, in 1804, he was made marshal of France. 
But the campaign of 1806-7 raised the reputation 
of Ney more than all his preceding achievements, 
and obtained for him, with the unanimous voice 
of an army of heroes, the proud title which dis- 
tinguishes his name far more than that of " Prince 
of the Moskwa," which he subsequently won on 
the field which decided the fate of the ancient 
capital of Russia. 

Marshal Lannes, Duke of Montebello — the first 
man who crossed the " terrible bridge of Lodi," and 
who from his impetuous valor, was surnamed the 
"Ajax" of the French army, was the son of a 
poor mechanic, ,and was about to be bound ap- 
prentice to some humble calling, when he ran 
away and enlisted. He became one of Napoleon' s 
greatest favorites and most attached friends. 

Murat, by far the most remarkable of Napo- 
leon's marshals, and the greatest cavalry soldier 
the world has ever seen, was the son of a poor 
village inn-keerjer, and was at first intended for 



114 FATHER KIRCHERS GLOBE. 

the Church, but he soon found his vocation, and en- 
listed into a chasseur regiment. He subsequently 
became King of Naples and brother-in-law to the 
Emperor. 

Andoche Junot, the son of a small farmer of 
Bussy-les-Forges, was born October 23, 1771. Of 
his military exploits nothing is known until the 
siege of Toulon, in 1793. Napoleon, then lieu- 
tenant of artillery, while constructing a battery 
under the fire of the English, having occasion to 
prepare a despatch, asked for some one who could 
use a pen. A young sergeant stepped out, and, 
leaning on the breastwork, wrote as he dictated. 
Just as he finished , a shot struck the ground by 
his side, and the paper was covered by the dust 
and loose earth thrown up by the ball. ' ' Good, ' ' 
said the soldier, laughing; "this time I shall 
have no need of sand." The cool gayety of this 
remark fixed the attention of Bonaparte, and 
made the fortune of the sergeant. 



FATHER KIRCHER'S GLOBE. 

A famous German astronomer, Father Kirch er, 
a Jesuit, wishing to convince one of his acquaint- 
ances who doubted the existence of a Supreme 
Being, made use of the following expedient : Just 



INFIDEL PHILOSOPHY AND LITEBATUBE. 115 

when he was expecting a visit from this gentle- 
man, he caused a magnificent celestial globe to be 
placed in a corner of the room. Scarcely had the 
person entered, when he remarked the globe, and 
asked Father Kircher to whom it belonged. The 
astronomer replied that it did not belong to him, 
that it had no owner. " Of course," he added, 
4 ' it must have come there by mere chance." 
" You are jesting now," said the visitor. But 
the Father insisted on it that he was perfectly 
serious. At last, when he perceived that his 
visitor began to show some annoyance, he took 
occasion to address him in these words: "You 
will not believe, and would even think it foolish 
to admit, that this little globe exists of itself , and 
is found by chance in the place where found." 
He knew not what answer to make to this so 
simple argument. He saw clearly how absurd it 
was to attribute to chance the admirable order 
which re ! gns throughout the universe.— (Schmid 
etBelet, Cat EisL.L, 54) 



INFIDEL PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE. 

The infidel philosophy of the last age was the 
child of the Reformation. Towards the close of 
the sixteenth century, a sect of deists had sprung 



116 INFIDEL PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE. 

up in Protestant Switzerland. As early as the 
reign of James the First, Lord Herbert, of Cher- 
bury, commenced that long series of English deists, 
consisting of Chubb, Collins, Shaftesbury, Toland, 
and Bolingbroke, the friend of Voltaire. Bayle, 
who at the commencement of the eighteenth cen- 
tury, introduced infidelity into France, was a Pro- 
testant ; and so was Rousseau, the eloquent 
apostle of deism, and who did nothing more 
than develop the principles of Protestantism. 

Voltaire and his fellow- conspirators against the 
Christian religion, borrowed most of their weap- 
ons from the arsenal of the English deists; and 
the philosopher of Ferney was, in his youth, the 
friend and guest of Bolingbroke. So Protestant- 
ism, which often, though falsely, taunts the 
Catholic Church with having given birth to un- 
belief, lies, itself, clearly open to that imputation. 
Let us take a glance at the character of the 
leaders of the great anti-Christian confederacy in 
France. 

Bayle was a writer of great erudition, and ex- 
treme subtlety of reasoning. His " Dictionnaire 
|Philosophique" is, even at the present day, often 
consulted. Montesquieu, one of the most manly 
intellects of the eighteenth century, unfortun- 
ately devoted to the wretched philosophy of the 
day the powers which God had given him for a 
nobler purpose. His strong sense, indeed, and 
extensive learning, guarded him against the 



INFIDEL PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE. H7 

wilder excesses of unbelief ; but the absence of 
strong religious conviction left him without a 
compass and a chart on the wide ocean of polit- 
ical and ethical investigations. 

Kousseau was a man of the most impassioned 
eloquence and vigorous reasoning ; but a mind 
withal so sophistical, that, according to the just ob- 
servation of La Harpe, even truth itself deceives us 
in his writings. His firm belief in the existence 
of the Deity, and the immortality of the soul, as 
well as in the necessity of virtue for a future state 
of happiness, and some remarkable tributes to the 
Divinity, and the blessed influences of the Chris- 
tian religion, give, at times, to the pages of Rous- 
seau a warmth and a splendor we rarely find in 
the other infidel writers of the last century. 

Inferior to Rousseau in eloquence arid logical 
power, the sophist of Ferney possessed a more 
various and versatile talent. Essaying philos- 
ophy and history, and poetry — tragic, comic, and 
epic; the novel, the romance, the satire, the epi- 
gram, he directed all his powers to one infernal 
purpose — the spread of irreligion, and thought 
his labor lost as long as Christ retained one 
worshipper ! Unlike the more impassioned 
sophist of Geneva, rarely do we meet in his writ- 
ings with a generous sentiment or a tender emo- 
tion. But all that elevates and thrills human- 
ity—the sanctities of religion, the nobleness of 
virtue, the rjurity of the domestic hearth, the ex- 



118 INFIDEL PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE. 

pansiveness of friendship, the generosity of pat- 
riotism, the majesty of law, were polluted by his 
ribald jest and fiend-like mockery. "Like those 
insects that corrode the roots of the most precious 
plants, he strives," says Count de Maistre, "to 
corrupt youth and women." 

And it is to be observed that, despite the great 
progress of religion in France within the last fifty 
years; though the aristocracy of French litera- 
ture has long rejected the yoke of Voltaire, he 
still reigns in its lower walks, and the novel, and 
the satire, and the ballad, still feel his deadly in- 
fluence. The only truth which this writer did 
not assail, was th.o> existence of God ; but every 
other dogma of religion became the butt of his 
ridicule. 

A more advanced phase of infidelity was repre- 
sented by d'Alembert, Diderot, and others; they 
openly advocated materialism and atheism. In 
the Encyclopedia they strove to array all arts and 
sciences against the Christian religion. It was, 
indeed, a tower of Babel, raised up by man's im- 
piety against God. It was a tree of knowledge 
without a graft from the tree of life. In mathe- 
matics and physics only did d'Alembert attain to 
a great eminence. Diderot was a much inferior 
intellect, that strove to make up, by the phrenetic 
violence of his declamation, for the utter hollow- 
ness of his ideas. It was he who gave to Raynal 
that frothy rhetoric, and those turgid invectives 



INFIDEL PHILOSOPHY AND LITER A TURE. 1 1 9 

against priests and kings, which the latter wove 
into his history of the European settlements in 
the East and West Indies. 

The great Buffon, though he condescended to 
do homage to the miserable philosophy of his day, 
yet, by the nobleness of his sentiments, as well as 
by the majesty of his genius, often rose superior 
to the doctrine he professed. 

Bernardine de St. Pierre was another great 
painter of nature. His better feelings at times 
led him to Christianity, but his excessive vanity 
drove him back to the opposite opinions. What 
shall I say of the remaining wretched herd of 
materialists and atheists, — a Baron d'Holbach, a 
Helve tins, a La Mettrie, a Cabanis, and others ? 
It has been well said by a great writer, that ma- 
terialism is something below humanity. And 
while debasing man to a level with the brute, it 
takes from him all the nobler instincts of his own 
nature ; it fails to give him in return those of the 
lower animals. So deep a perversion of man's 
moral and intellectual being we cannot conceive. 

We cannot realize (and happily for us we 
cannot) that awful eclipse of the understanding 
which denies God. We have a mingled feeling 
of terror and of pity, when we contemplate those 
miserable souls, that, as the great Italian poet, 
Dante, says, have lost the supreme intelligential 
bliss. When that great idea of God is extin- 
guished in the human mind, what remains to man ? 



120 INFIDEL PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE. 

Nature abhors a vacuum, said the old natur- 
alists ; with what horror then must we recoil from 
that void which atneism creates % — a void in the 
intelligence, a void in the conscience, a void in the 
affections, a void in society, a void in domestic 
life. The human mind is swung from its orbit; 
it wanders through trackless space ; and the reign 
of chaos and old night returns. 

What a lamentable abuse of all the noblest 
gifts of intellect, wit, and eloquence, imagination 
and reasoning ! And for the accomplishment of 
what purpose % For the overthrow of religion, 
natural and revealed religion, the guide of exist- 
ence, the great moral teacher, which solves 
all the problems of life, which tells our origin 
and destiny, our duties to our Creator and 
our fellow- creatures, the foundation of the family 
and of the State — religion, the instructress of 
youth, and the prop of age ; the balm of wounded 
minds, and the moderator of human joys; which 
controls the passions, yet imparts a zest to inno- 
cent pleasures ; which survives the illusions of 
youth, and the disappointments of manhood; 
consoles us in life, and supports us in death. 

Such were the blessings that perverted genius 
strove to snatch from mankind. Yet the time 
was at hand, when the proud Titans, who sought 
to storm Heaven, were to be driven back by the 
thunderbolts of Almighty wrath, and hurled 
down into the lowest depths of Tartarus. 



INFIDEL PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE. \%\ 

But, even in regard to literature and science, 
the influence of this infidel party was most per- 
nicious. How could they understand nature, who 
rested their eyes on its surface only, but never 
pierced to its inner depths \ How could they un- 
derstand the philosophy of history, who denied 
the providence of God, and the free will of man % 
How could they comprehend metaphysics, who 
disowned God, and knew nothing of man's origin, 
nor of his destiny \ And, was an abject mate- 
rialism compatible with the aspirations of poetry \ 

Classical philology, too, shared the fate of 
poetry and of history ; and in education was 
made to give place to mathematics and the natural 
sciences. Hence, from this period dates the de- 
cline of philological studies in France. The men 
of genius of whom infidelity could boast, like 
Montesquieu, Voltaire, Kousseau, Buffon, and 
d'Alembert, were men who had been trained up 
in a Christian country, had received a Christian 
education, and whose minds had been imbued 
with the doctrines and the ethics of Christianity 
and had partially retained these sentiments in 
•the midst of their unbelief. But, let unbelief sink 
deep into a nation's mind — let it form its morals, 
and fashion its manners — and we shall soon see 
how barbarism of taste and coarseness of habits 
will be associated with moral depravity and 
mental debasement. Look at the godless litera- 
ture of the French Republic from 1790 to 



122 INFIDEL PHILOSOPHY AND LITERATURE. 

1805, and at that of the Empire down to 1814. 
What contemptible mediocrity of intellect ; what 
wretched corruption of taste ! 

But in the Catholic literature, which, after a 
long sleep revives under Napoleon, and afterwards 
under the Bourbons, what fulness of life, what 
energy do we not discover ! What brilliancy of 
fancy and fervor of feeling in Chateaubriand ! 
What depth of thought and majesty of diction in 
the philosopher, De Bonald ! What profound in- 
tuitions — what force and plausibility of style in 
the great Co ant de Maistre ! What vigorous ratio- 
cination—what burning eloquence, in De Lammen- 
nais before his fall ! What elevation of feeling 
and harmony of numbers in the lyric poet, Lam- 
artine ! Except in the semi-pantheistic school, 
represented by Victor Cousin and his friends, 
French infidelity in the present age, whether in 
literature or in philosophy, has no first-rate talent 
to display. Yet of this school, Jouffroy died re- 
penting his errors, and Victor Cousin himself has 
lately returned to the bosom of the Church. 
—Professor Robertson. 



O'CONNELL. 123 



O'CONJSTELL. 

But give me the practical Catholic, the intellect- 
ual man ! Give me the man of faith. Give me 
the man of human power and intelligence, and 
the higher power, divine principle and divine love ! 
With that man, as with the lever of Archimedes, 
I will move the world. 

Let me speak to you, in conclusion, of such a 
man. Let me speak to you, of one whose form, 
as I beheld it in early youth, now looms up before 
me ; so fills, in imagination, the halls of my mem- 
ory, that I behold him now as I beheld him 
years ago, majestic in stature, an eye gleaming 
with intellectual power, a mighty hand uplifted, 
waving, quivering with honest indignation ; his 
voice thundering like the voice of a god in the 
tempest, against all injustice and all dishonor. I 
speak of Ireland's greatest son, the immortal 
Daniel O'Connell. He came. He found a nation 
the most faithful, the most generous on the face 
of the earth ; he found a people not deficient in 
any power of human intelligence or human cour- 
age ; chaste in their domestic relations, reliable 
to each other, and truthful — and above all, a peo- 
ple who, for centuries and centuries, had lived, 
and died, and suffered to uphold the Faith and 
the Cross. He came, and he found that people, 
after the rebellion of JSmety-Eight, down- trodden 



124 O'CONNELL 

in the blood-stained dust, and bound in chains. 
The voice of Ireland was silent. The heart of the 
nation was broken. Every privilege, civil and 
otherwise, was taken from them. They were com- 
manded, as the only condition of the toleration 
of their existence, to lie down in their blood- 
stained fetters of slavery, and to be grateful to 
the hand that only left them life. He brought to 
that prostrate people a Christian spirit and a 
Christian soul. He brought his mighty faith in 
God and in God's Holy Church. He brought his 
great human faith in the power of justice, and in 
the omnipotence of right. He roused the people 
from their lethargy. He sent the cry for justice 
throughout the land, and he proved his own sin- 
cerity to Ireland and to her cause, by laying down 
an income of sixty tnousand dollars a year, that 
he might enter into her service. He showed the 
people the true secret of their strength himself. 
Thundering to-day for justice in the halls of the 
English Senate, on the morrow morning he was 
seen in the confessional, and kneeling at the altar 
to receive his God — with one hand leaning upon 
the eternal cause of God's justice, the other leaning 
upon the Lord Jesus Christ. Upheld by these, and 
by the power of his own genius, he left his mark 
upon his age ; he left his mark upon his country ! 
This was indeed, the ' ' Man of his Day!" the Chris- 
tian man, of whom the world stood in awe — faith- 
ful as a husband and father ; faithful as a friend ; 



VCONNELL 125 

the delight of all who knew him \ faithful in his 
disinterested labors ! with an honorable, honest 
spirit of self-devotion in his country's cause ! He 
raised that prostrate form ; he struck the chains 
from those virgin arms, and placed upon her head 
a crown of free worship and free education. He 
made Ireland to be, in a great measure, what he 
always prayed and hoped she might be, "The 
Queen of the Western Isles, and the proudest gem 
that the Atlantic bears upon the surface of its 
green waters." Oh, if there were a few more like 
him ! Oh, that our race would produce a few more 
like him ! Our 0' Connell was Irish of the Irish, 
and Catholic of the Catholic. We are Irish and 
we are Catholic. How is it we have not more men 
like him \ Is the stamina wanting to us % Is the 
intellect wanting to us % Is the power of united 
expression in the interests of society wanting to 
us ? No ! But the religious Irishman of our day 
refuses to be educated, and the educated Irish- 
man of to-day refuses to be religious. These two 
go hand in hand. Unite the highest education 
with the deepest and tenderest practical love of 
God and of your religion, and I see before me, in 
many of the young faces on which I look, the 
stamp of our Irish genius ; I see before me many 
who may be the fathers and legislators of the Re- 
public, the leaders of our race, and the heroes of 
our common country and our common religion. 

— Father Burke. 



126 IRELAND IN AMEBIC A. 



IRELAND IN AMERICA. 

Yes; if there be one passion that has outlived 
every other in the heart of the true Irishman, it 
is the inborn love for Ireland, for Ireland's great- 
ness, and for Ireland's glory. Our fathers loved 
it, and knew how to prize it, to hold it — the glory 
of the faith that has never been tarnished; the 
glory of the national honor that has never bowed 
down to acknowledge itself a slave. And my 
friends, the burden and the responsibility of that 
glory is yours and mine to-night. The glory of 
Ireland's priesthood; the glory of St. Columba; 
the glories of Iona and of Lindisfarne weigh 
upon me with a tremendous responsibility to be 
of all other men what the Irish priest and monk 
must be, because of that glorious history; the 
glory of the battle that has been so long fighting 
and is not yet closed; the glory of that faith that 
has been so long and so well defended and 
guarded; the glory of that national virtue that 
has made Ireland's men the bravest and Ireland's 
women the purest in the world — that glory is 
your inheritance and your responsibility this 
night. I and you, men, feel as Irishmen, and as 
Catholics, that you and I to-night are bound to 
show the world what Irishmen and Catholics 
have been in the ages before us, and what they 
intend to be in the ages to come — a nation and a 



ARE THERE SEVERAL TRUE CHURCHES? 127 

Clmrch that has never allowed a stain to be fixed 
upon the national banner nor upon the national 
altar — a nation and a Church who, in spite of its 
hard fate and its misfortunes, can still look the 
world in the face; for on Ireland's virgin brow 
no stain of dishonor or of perfidy has ever been 
placed. In sobriety, in industry, in manly self- 
respect, in honest pride of everything that an 
honest man ought to be proud of — in all these, 
and in respect for the laws of this mighty country, 
lie the secret of your honor and of your national 
power and purity Mark my words! Let Ireland 
in America be faithful, be Catholic, be practical, 
be temperate, be industrious, be obedient to the 
laws; and the day will dawn, with the blessing of 
God, yet upon you and me, so that when returning 
to visit for a time the shores from which we came, 
we shall land upon the shores of a free and glori- 
ous and unfettered nation. — Father BurTce. 



ARE THERE SEVERAL TRUE CHURCHES? 

Theee is but one only true Church , and that 
is so evident that no one possessed of even 
ordinary good sense can anywise doubt it. Here 
are two or three little stories on the subject. A* 
Catholic priest and a Protestant minister were 



128 ARE THERE SEVERAL TRUE CHURCHES? 

one day walking together; they chanced to meet 
a Jewish rabbi. "Hold," said the Protestant 
minister, laughing, "we three are of so many dif- 
ferent religions; now, which of us has the true 
one ?" " I will tell you that, ' ' said the rabbi; ' ' if 
the Messiah is not yet come, it is I; if the Messiah 
be come, it is this Catholic priest; but as for you, 
whether the Messiah be come or not, you are not 
in the right way." "I do not like those who 
change their religion," said a Protestant prince 
of Germany to the Count de Stolberg, recently 
converted to the Catholic faith. ' i JSTor I, either, ' ' 
answered the doctor, ' ' for if my ancestors had 
not changed, I should not have been obliged to 
return to Catholicity." And that is very true, 
my young friends; a Protestant who becomes 
a Catholic does not change his religion; he does 
but return to the way which his forefathers were 
wrong in quitting. An excellent answer was 
made, on this subject, by a French ambassador, 
ill at Stockholm, the capital of Sweden. Some 
one asked him whether, in case he died there, he 
would not be sorry to have his ashes mingle 
with those of heretics. "No," he replied "I 
would only ask to have the earth dug a little 
deeper, and I should be amongst your ancestors, 
who were Catholics like myself." — Schmid et 
Belet, Cat. Hist, L, 303. 



RESIGNATION OF CHARLES V. 129 



RESIGNATION OF CHARLES V. 

This great emperor, in the plenitude of his 
power, and in possession of all the honors which 
can flatter the heart of man, took the extraor 
dinary resolution to resign his kingdoms; and 
to withdraw entirely from any concern in business 
or the affairs of this world, in order that he might 
spend the remainder of his days in retirement and 
solitude. 

Though it requires neither deep reflection, nor 
extraordinary discernment, to discover that the 
state of royalty is not exempt from cares and dis- 
appointments ; though most of those who are 
exalted to a throne, find solicitude, and satiety, 
and disgust, to be their perpetual attendants, in 
that envied pre-eminence ; yet, to descend volun- 
tarily from the supreme to a subordinate station, 
and to relinquish the possession of power in order 
to attain the enjoyment of happiness, seems to be 
an effort too great for the human mind. 

Several instances, indeed, occur in history, of 
monarchs who have quitted a throne, and have 
ended their days in retirement. But they were 
either weak princes, who took this resolution 
rashly, and repented of it as soon as it was taken ; 
or unfortunate princes, from whose hands some 
strong rival had wrested their sceptre, and com- 



130 RESIGNATION OF CHARLES V. 

pelled them to descend with reluctance into a 
private station. 

Diocletian is, perhaps, the only prince capable 
of holding the reins of government, who ever re- 
signed them from deliberate choice ; and who 
continued, during many years, to enjoy the tran- 
quillity of retirement, without fetching one peni- 
tent sigh, or casting back one look of desire 
towards the power or dignity which he had 
abandoned. 

No wonder, then, that Charles-s resignation 
should fill all Europe with astonishment, and give 
rise, both among his contemporaries and among 
the historians of that period, to various conject- 
ures concerning the motives which determined a 
prince, whose ruling passion had been uniformly 
the love of power, at the age of fifty-six, when ob- 
jects of ambition operate with full force on the 
mind, and are pursued with the greatest ardor, to 
take a resolution so singular and unexpected. 

The Emperor, in pursuance of his determination, 
having assembled the states of the Low Countries 
at Brussels, seated himself, for the last time, in 
the chair of state ; on one side of which was 
placed his son, and on the other his sister, the 
queen of Hungary, regent of the Netherlands, with 
a splendid retinue of the grandees of Spain, and 
princes of the empire standing behind him. 

The president of the council of Fianders, by his 
command, explained in a few words, his intention 



RESIGNATION OF CHARLES V. 131 

in calling this extraordinary meeting of the state. 
He then read the instrument of resignation by 
which Charles surrendered to his son Philip all 
his territories, jurisdiction, and authority in the 
Low Countries ; absolving his subjects there from 
their oath of allegiance to him, which he required 
them to transfer to Philip, his lawful heir ; and 
to serve him with the same loyalty and zeal that 
they had manifested during so long a course of 
years, in support of his government. 

Charles then rose from his seat, and leaning on 
the shoulder of the Prince of Orange, because he 
was unable to stand without support, he addressed 
himself to the audience ; and, from a paper which 
he held in his hand, in order to assist his memory; 
he recounted with dignity, but without ostenta- 
tion, all the great things which he had undertaken 
and performed, since the commencement of his 
administration. 

He observed, that from the seventeenth year of 
his age, he had dedicated all his thoughts and 
attention to public objects, reserving no portion 
of his time for the indulgence of his ease, and very 
little for the enjoyment of private pleasures ; that 
either in a pacific or hostile manner, he had visited 
Germany nine times, Spain six times, France four 
times, Italy seven times, and the Low Countries 
ten times, England twice, Africa as often, and 
had made eleven voyages by sea. 
That while his health permitted him to dis- 



132 RESIGNATION OF CHARLES V. 

charge his duty, and the vigor of his constitution 
was equal in any degree to the arduous office of 
governing dominions so extensive, he had never 
shunned labor nor repined under fatigue ; that 
now when his health was broken, and his vigor 
exhausted by the rage of an incurable distemper 
his growing infirmities admonished him to retire. 

Nor was he so fond of reigning, as to retain the 
sceptre in an impotent hand which was no longer 
able to protect his subjects, or to render them 
happy ; that instead of a sovereign worn out with 
diseases, and scarcely half alive, he gave them 
one in the prime of life, accustomed already to 
govern, and who added to the vigor of youth all 
the attention and sagacity of maturer years. 

That if during the course of a long administra- 
tion, he had committed any material error in 
government ; or if under the pressure of so many 
and great affairs, and amid the attention which 
he had been obliged to give to them he had either 
neglected or injured any of his subjects, he now 
implored their forgiveness. 

That for his part, he should ever retain a 
grateful sense of their fidelity and attachment, 
and would carry the remembrance of it along with 
bim to the place of his retreat, as his sweetest 
consolation, as well as the best reward for all his 
services ; and in his last prayers to Almighty 
God would pour forth his ardent wishes for their 
welfare. 



RESIGNATION OF CHARLES V. 133 

Then turning towards Philip, who fell on his 
knees and kissed his father' s hand, ' ' If , " said he, 
" I had left yon by my death this rich inheritance 
to which I had made such large additions, some 
regard would have been justly due to my memory 
on that account ; but now, when I voluntarily 
resign to you what I might have still retained, I 
may well expect the warmest expression of thanks 
on your part. 

"With these, however, I dispense ; and shall 
consider your concern for the welfare of your 
subjects and your love of them, as the best and 
most acceptable testimony of your gratitude to 
me. It is in your power, by a wise and virtuous 
administration, to justify the extraordinary proof 
which I give this day of my paternal affection, 
and to demonstrate that you are worthy of the 
confidence which I repose in you. 

"Preserve an inviolable regard for religion; 
maintain the Catholic faith in its purity ; let the 
laws of your country be sacred in your eyes ; 
encroach not on the rights and privileges of your 
people ; and if the time shall ever come when 
you shall wish to enjoy the tranquillity of private 
life, may you have a son endowed with such 
qualities that you can resign your sceptre to him 
with as much satisfaction as I give up mine to 
you." 

As soon as Charles had finished this long ad- 
dress to his subjects, and to their new sovereign, 



134 RESIGNATION OF CHARLES V. 

he sunk into the chair exhausted and ready to 
faint with the fatigue of so extraordinary an effort. 
During his discourse, the whole audience melted 
into tears ; some from admiration of his mag- 
nanimity ; others softened by the expressions ot' 
tenderness towards his son, and of love to his 
people ; and all were affected with the deepest 
sorrow at losing a sovereign who had distinguished 
the Netherlands, his native country, with partic- 
ular marks of his regard and attachment. 

A few weeks after the resignation of the Nether- 
lands, Charles, in an assembly no less splendid, 
and with a ceremonial equally pompous, resigned 
to his son the crowns of Spain, with all the 
territories depending on them, both in the old 
and in the new world. Of all these vast possess- 
ions, he reserved nothing for himself but an 
annual pension of a hundred thousand crowns, to 
defray the charges of his family and to afford 
him a small sum for acts of beneficence and 
charity. 

Nothing now remained to detain him from that 
retreat for which he languished. Everything 
having been prepared some time for his voyage, 
he set out for Zuitberg in Zealand, where the fleet 
had orders to rendezvous. 

In his way thither, he passed through Ghent ; 
and after stopping there a few days, to indulge 
that tender and pleasing melancholy, which arises 
in the mind of every man in the decline of life, 



RESIGNATION OF CHARLES V. 135 

on visiting the place of Ms nativity, and viewing 
the scenes and objects familiar to him in his early 
youth, he jmrsued his journey, accompanied by 
his son Philip, his daughter the archduchess, his 
sisters the dowager queens of France and Hun- 
gary, Maximilian his son-in-law, and a numerous 
retinue of the Flemish nobility. 

Before he went on board, he dismissed them, 
with marks of his attention or regard; and tak- 
ing leave of Philip with all the tenderness of a 
father who embraced his son for the last time, he 
set sail under convoy of a large fleet of Spanish, 
Flemish, and English ships. 

His voyage was prosperous, and agreeable ; and 
he arrived at Laredo in Biscay, on the eleventh 
day after he left Zealand. As soon as he landed, 
he fell prostrate on the ground ; and considering 
himself now as dead to the world, he kissed the 
earth, and said, "Naked came I out of my 
mother's womb, and naked I now return to thee, 
thou common mother of mankind." 

From Laredo he proceeded to Valladolid. 
There he took a last and tender leave of his two 
sisters ; whom he would not permit to accompany 
him to his solitude, though they entreated it with 
tears; not only that they might have the consola- 
tion of contributing, by their at tendance and care, 
to mitigate or to soothe his sufferings, but that 
they might reap instruction and benefit, by join- 
ing with him in those pious exercises, to which 



136 BESIGNATION OF CHABLES V. 

he had consecrated the remainder of his days. 

From Valladolid, he continued his journey- 
to Plazencia in Estremadura. He had passed 
through that city a great many years before ; and 
having been struck at that time with the delight- 
ful situation of the monastery of St. Justus, be- 
longing to the order of St. Jerome, not many miles 
distant from that place, he had then observed to 
some of his attendants, that this was a spot to 
which Diocletian might have retired with pleasure. 

The impression had remained so strong on his 
mind, that he pitched upon it as the place of his 
retreat. It was seated in a vale of no great ex- 
tent, watered by a small brook, and surrounded 
by rising grounds, covered with lofty trees From 
the nature of the soil, as well as the temperature 
of the climate, it was esteemed the most health- 
ful and delicious situation in Spain. 

Some months before his resignation, he had 
sent an architect thither, to add a new apart- 
ment to the monastery, for his accommodation , 
but he gave strict orders that the style of the 
building should be such as suited his present 
station, rather than his former dignity. It con- 
sisted only of six rooms, four of them in the form 
of friars' cells, with naked walls ; the other two, 
each twenty feet square, were hung with brown 
cloth, and furnished in the most simple manner. 

They were on a level with the ground ; with a 
door on one side into a garden, of which Charles 



RESIGNATION OF CHARLES V. 137 

himself had given the plan, and had filled it with 
various plants, which he purposed to cultivate 
with his own hands. On the other side, thev com- 
municated with the chapel of the monastery, in 
which he was to perform his devotions. 

Into this humble retreat, hardly sufficient for 
the comfortable accommodation of a private gen- 
tleman, did Charles enter, with twelve domestics 
only He buried there, in solitude and silence, 
his grandeur, his ambition, together with all those 
vast projects, which, during half a century, had 
alarmed and agitated Europe ; filling every king- 
dom in it, by turns, with the terror of his arms, 
and the dread of being subjected to his power. 

In this retirement, Charles formed such a plan 
of life for himself as would have suited the con- 
dition of a private person of a moderate fortune. 
His table was neat but plain ; his domestics few ; 
his intercourse with them familiar : all the cum- 
bersome and ceremonious forms of attendance on 
his person were entirely abolished, as destructive 
of that social ease and tranquillity which he 
courted, in order to soothe the remainder of his 
days. 

As the mildness of the climate, together with 
his deliverance from the burdens and cares of 
government procured him, at first, a considera- 
ble remission from the acute pains with which 
he had been long tormented, he enjoyed, perhaps, 
more complete satisfaction in this humble soli- 



138 FJJNEBAL SEB VICE OF CHARLES V. 

tude than all his grandeur had ever yielded him. 
The ambitious thoughts and projects which had 
so long engrossed and disquieted him, were quite 
effaced from his mind. Far from taking any 
part in the political transactions of the princes of 
Europe, he restrained his curiosity even from any 
inquiry concerning them ; and he seemed to view 
the busy scene which he had abandoned, with all 
the contempt and indifference arising from his 
thorough experience of its vanity, as well as from 
the pleasing reflection of having disentangled him- 
self from its cares. — Robertson. 



CHAELES V. PERFORMS THE FUNERAL 
SERVICE FOR HIMSELF. 

About this time [August 1558], according to 
the historian of St. Jerome, his thoughts seemed 
to turn more than usual to religion and its rites. 
Whenever during his stay at Yuste any of his 
friends, of the degree of princes or knights of the 
fleece, had died, he had ever been punctua] in 
doing honor to their memory, by causing their 
obsequies to be performed by the friars. The 
daily masses said for his own soul were always 
accompanied by others for the souls of his father, 
mother and wife. But now he ordered further 



FUNERAL SERVICE OF CHARLES V. 139 

solemnities of the funeral kind to be performed, 
in behalf of these relations, each on a different 
day, and attended them himself, preceded by a 
page bearing a taper, and joining in the chant, in 
a very devout and audible manner, out of a tattered 
prayer-book. These rites ended, he asked his 
confessor whether he might not now perform his 
own funeral, and so do for himself what would 
soon have to be done for him by others. Regla 
replied that his majesty, please God, might live 
many years, and that when his time came these 
services would be gratefully rendered without his 
taking any thought about the matter. "But," 
persisted Charles, "would it not be good for my 
soul V The monk said that certainly it would ; 
pious works done during life being far more effi- 
cacious than when postponed till after death. 
Preparations were therefore at once set on foot; a 
catafalque, which had served before on similar 
occasions, was erected ; and on the following day, 
the 30th of August, as the historian relates, this 
celebrated service was actually performed. The 
high altar, the catafalque, and the whole church 
shone with a blaze of wax- lights ; the friars were 
all in their places, at the altars, and in the choir, 
and the household of the emperor attended in 
deep mourning. "The pious monarch himself 
was there, attired in sable weeds, and bearing a 
taper, to see himself interred and to celebrate 
his own obsequies." While the solemn mass for 



140 UNCERTAINTY OF DEATH. 

the dead was sung he came forward and gave his 
taper into the hands of the officiating priest, in 
token of his desire to yield his soul into the hands 
of his Maker. High above, over the kneeling 
throng and the gorgeous vestment, the flowers, the 
curling incense, and the glittering altar, the same 
idea shone forth in that splendid canvas whereon 
Titian had pictured Charles kneeling on the thres- 
hold of the heavenly mansions prepared for the 
blessed. — Maxwell. 



UNCERTAINTY OF DEATH. 

Death, though most terrific, is made omnipo- 
tently awful by the uncertainty of the moment it 
may come. No man can count upon tne certainty 
of one day — one hour — one minute — one second — 
one second ! ! ! Not to know but in one second 
our soul may be summoned into the presence of 
God, to give an account of our lives — in one 
second to have our fate determined for all eternity ! 
This thought is sufficient to mar the pleasures of 
the most exalted station on earth, and to humble 
the proudest spirit that ever appeared amongst 
men — this salutary thought ought to fill the soul 
with decided love and fear of God. In one second 
each of us may be deprived of all we possess — 



UNCERTAINTY OF DEATH. 141 

health, friends, wealth, life — in one second buried 
in the dust, a lifeless corse— shunned by the 
whole world — the terror of all the living — the 
horror even of those we loved best. Great Ruler 
of the world — Master of all things — Mighty Father 
of all the living— in what a condition of depend- 
ence hast ^thou placed the human race ! With 
what imploring entreaty should they unceasingly 
petition heaven for aid, when the entire human 
population cannot command one second of time 
for their own ! Great Lord ! this world ceases to be 
beautiful, when the pale shadow of decay every- 
where darkens its flowers and obscures its bright 
sun. Lord ! life, without the hope of eternity, 
is no boon, since it is wrenched from the young 
bride in her early joy, and snatched from youth 
and beauty just as they have culled the flowers 
to make a wreath for the summer. Oh, what is 
this world ! 

In childhood everything looks gay and smiling, 
and unconscious youth sees every path strewed 
with flowers — yet death, that lurks in the breath, 
stops it before its prime, and lays it in the tomb. 
If we reach manhood, who is there that, with one 
glance of the past, does not see the companions 
of his youth taken from his side ? No room in 
which the dismal shadow of death has not fallen — 
no chair from which he does not miss some friend — 
and if we be so fated as to escape ourselves till 
old age, is not life perhaps worse than death — left 



142 UNCERTAINTY OF DEATH. 

alone like a tree in a forest, which has escaped the 
rage of the tempest % Does not the wreck about us 
place in our view one universal tomb — does not 
everything round the old man give a bitter taste of 
death — is not even the home of the old man a 
grave — death on every side % Is not this the tomb % 
Just like a winter sun setting dimly behind the 
storm-clouds of the west, and throwing a grey , half 
light on the cold, hoary churchyard, in the cold 
evening of life, as we sink from this world, the 
small spark that still remains only serves to give 
to existence a colder aspect, and to make the state 
of old age and the state of the grave nearly the 
same. 

All the wealth of this world cannot purchase 
one moment of time. This world, then, with all 
its titles, and grandeur, and power, is a dream 
which ends with this life. Though it is hard to 
bear adversity, yet an humble state is certainly 
less dangerous than an Exalted one — the taste of 
death is less bitter to the poor than to the rich ; 
it is hard to feel want here — true ; but how bear 
the bleak churchyard ? it is painful to be passed 
by in cold contempt by the great — true ; but how 
bear the horrors of the tomb % we grieve when we 
are deprived of society— true ; but Father of the 
living and the dead ! how shall the voluptuous 
bear the rot of the grave ? Their bodies will lie 
for centuries — yes, many a century will roll its 
unvarying course over our fallen pride— many a 



UNCERTAINTY OF DEATH. 143 

rising sun will pour its morning splendor over 
our green graves — many a setting sun will shed its 
departing lustre over our forgotten ashes — and 
ages will pass on, and generations will rise and 
fall, and kingdoms and empires be remodelled, 
and grow up and decay, and the sun will a thou- 
sand times begin and end his course, while the 
cold sleep of death, heavy death, will still reign 
for ages over our mouldering dust, in deep, and 
dismal, and unbroken silence. 

To be sure, you say, God made this world, and 
we must live here according to His will. True, 
He did; He made society, and we must live in it — 
true, He did so; innocent amusements cannot hurt 
the soul — true, they cannot — so we say — agreed? 
agreed. I must agree — we are in this world, and 
we must taste it — so we say — true; but, after all 
this fine reasoning, go to the vaults of the dead 
for an hour — see the lamps flickering along the 
frightful passages — look at the mounting of the 
coffins as they glare and glisten in death — see the 
coffins piled in their dreary recesses — read on the 
mouldering breastplate the names of the young 
and beautiful — pause at each recess, and see each 
family of coffins as they lie in death together — 
feel the taste and the smell of death on the cold, 
damp air— don't go away — and wait — wait till 
all the lamps are extinguished — hear the heavy 
iron door closed and locked — and listen to the 
echo of the bolt reverberating along the dark 



144 UNCERTAINTY OF DEATH. 

arches — and give one look again into the silent 
abode of the dead, where they are to sleep for 
ages, and then, standing at the door, and looking 
in still, talk of the amusements of society. I say 
there is no man living, with a heart alive to im- 
pressions, could enjoy society with these images 
before him — he must despise the world if he have 
common feeling — I defy him to feel otherwise. 
This was the the feeling of the saints — the feeling 
by which they saved their souls — and to the 
absence of this feeling we may trace our indif- 
ference, our coldness, perhaps the irreligion of 
the great bulk of mankind. 

The feelings of a soul just quitting this world, 
and entering into the next, cannot be told. "Every 
view before it is infinite — God, eternity — its hopes 
infinite if it be holy — it looks at heaven — its fears 
infinite if it be in mortal guilt, because it gazes 
on the deep, deep abyss. Like an atom in the 
midst of space, after it rises from the plunge of 
death — like an atom, it appears in the midst Of 
surrounding infinity — like one ray of light com- 
pared with the golden flood of all creation — like 
one ray of light, its bright essence appears before 
the ethereal glory of heaven. Immortal soul ! 
what a change from the confinement in deceased 
human flesh, when set free as thought through 
the illimitable empire of God ! It sees the eternal 
gates of heaven open wide, which Jesus Christ, 
at His death, commanded never again to be closed: 



UNCERTAINTY OF DEATH. 145 

myriads of suns burn on the eternal hills of Para- 
dise; and light, like streaks of gold, covers the 
skies with effulgent lustre over the throne of 
God. 

What language can tell the multitudinous loss 
of a soul banished from God — flung from heaven 
as far as omnipotent Power can cast it — suffering" 
a torture conceived in God's anger and excited 
by almighty rage — dwelling at an infinite distance 
from heaven, where no ray of light can ever reach 
it from far distant creation — tossed on a burning 
ocean, where there is no relief — surrounded by 
tempests of fire, where the black wave rolls for- 
ever in swollen terror, without ever breaking on 
a friendly shore — where the voice of lamentation 
is ever heard — where despair, rage, agony, blas- 
phemy, are the feelings that rend the undying 
feeling of the eternal victim. God of Justice ! 
what a destiny awaits the soul of man — what in- 
comprehensible and fathomless terrors are sud- 
denly revealed to the dying and impenitent sin- 
ner — death, eternity, condemnation, banishment, 
omnipotent wrath, and hell. 

Against those enlarged terrors there is only one 
remedy— Religion. This sublime, supernatural, 
and holy principle raises the soul above all fear 
—all danger— as the glorious sun lifts the dew 
from the sluggish morass to soar aloft in the skies 
in gilded majesty. Religion raises the soul from 
earth to heaven, to dwell with God forever in 



146 GOD'S TURN WILL COME. 

bright and eternal glory, Grace is the imperish- 
able life of the soul — its immortal ornament — ren- 
dering it glorious in undying happiness. Religion 
triumphs over death, and smiles at the grave — 
it is a light that illumines the short, dark pass- 
age between this world and the next, and con- 
ducts the soul in security after the convulsive 
shock of dissolution, till it sees God in eternity — 
it is the voice of the Saviour, communicating to 
the soul heavenly confidence, and, with the om- 
nipotent authority of heaven's Ruler, command- 
ing it to rise from the tomb, and to follow Him to 
paradise. Religion, therefore, not only takes 
away all terrors from the grave, but, seen in its 
true character, makes death a delightful resource, 
inasmuch as it paves the way to a bright and 
immortal country. — Dr Cahill. 



GOD'S TURN WILL COME. 

" I will laugh at the destruction of those who 
have laughed at me during their life." These 
frightful words were pronounced, my dear friends, 
by God Himself, and many, many times have the 
impious seen their fulfilment. Hear what befel 
d' Alembert, one of the philosophers most hostile 
to religion. He had been present at the death of 



THE CONVENT BOG. 147 

his friend Voltaire, and had had the cruelty to 
prevent a priest from being called in. When he 
himself reached his last hour he felt so keenly the 
sting of remorse that he sent in all haste for the 
pastor of St. Germain l'Auxerrois. Condorcet, 
one of his friends, went out on pretence of going 
to seek him and returned in a few minutes, say- 
ing that he would come presently ; it was a lie, 
for he did not go. But d'Alembert, unable to 
wait, sent once more this perfidious friend, who 
again went out, walked about for some time, then 
returned saying that the priest would come very 
soon, but that for the moment he could not come, 
being engaged. This, too, was a falsehood ; the 
wretch was playing on d'Alembert. The latter, 
being a prey to the most fearful anguish sent a 
note by a faithful servant ; but alas ! he had not 
yet returned when d'Alembert breathed his last. 
This happened in Paris on the 29th of October, 
1783. — Guillous, Exjplic. du Cat. 



THE CONVENT DOG. 

At a convent in France twenty paupers were 
served with a dinner at a certain hour every day. 
A dog belonging to the convent did not fail to be 
present at this regale, to receive the scraps which 



148 TEE CONVENT DOG, 

were now and then thrown to him. The guests, 
however, were poor and hungry, and of course 
not very wasteful ; so that their pensioner did 
little more than scent the feast of which he would 
fain have partaken. The portions were served 
by a person at the ringing of a bell, and deliv- 
ered out by means of what in religious houses is 
called a tour — a machine like the section of a cask 
that by turning round exhibits whatever is placed 
on the concave side, without discovering the 
person who moves it. One day this dog, which 
had only received a few scraps, waited till the 
paupers were all gone, took the rope in his 
mouth, and rang the bell. His stratagem suc- 
ceeded. He repeated it the next day with the 
same good fortune. At length the cook, finding 
that twenty-one portions were given out instead 
of twenty, was determined to discover the trick, 
in doing which he had no great difficulty, for, 
lying in wait and noticing the paupers as they 
came for their different portions, and that there 
was no intruder except the dog, he began to sus- 
pect the truth, which he was confirmed in when 
he saw the animal remain with great deliberation 
till the visitors were all gone, and then pull the 
bell. The matter was related to the community, 
and to reward him for his ingenuity, the dog was 
permitted to ring the Dell every day for his 
dinner, on which some broken victuals were always 
afterwards served to him. 



MICHAEL ANGELO AND HIS ENEMIES. 149 



HOW MICHAEL ANGELO CONFOUNDED 
HIS ENEMIES. 

Michael Angelo, that celebrated painter and 
sculptor of Florence, having remarked, during 
his stay in Rome, the jealousy he had inspired in 
Raphael and several other artists, composed priv- 
ately a Bacchus playing witli a Satyr. He had 
spared nothing to make this piece of sculpture 
worthy of his well-known skill ; but he took care 
to conceal his name at the bottom and to break off 
an arm of his statue ; after these precautions he 
blackened it with soot and buried it in a vineyard 
where he knew the foundations of a house were 
soon to be dug out. Nearly a year after the work- 
men employed on these foundations having ac- 
tually discovered this unknown statue, carried it to 
the Pope. The artists all praised the magnificence 
of this work, and immediately agreed on its high 
antiquity. Michael Angelo alone seemed to be of 
a contrary opinion ; he even began to point out 
numerous defects in this masterpiece. The ques- 
tion gave rise to warm discussion. Raphael 
maintained that the statue was perfection itself 
and that it was impossible to estimate its price ; 
"only," he added, "it is a great pity that its arm 
is broken off and lost." Then, in order to con- 
found this jealous rival, Michael Angelo went in 
search of the arm he had kept, showed his name 



150 IRELAND IN THE AGES OF FAITH. 

engraved on the base of the statue, and related 
its origin. His enemies went away quite confused 
for having fallen so completely into the snare so 
adroitly laid for them by Michael Angelo. These 
poor artists drew only shame from a fact which 
sheds imperishable glory on their rival. — Schmid 
et Belet, Cat Hist., III., 334. 



IRELAND IN THE AGES OF FAITH. 

Amid the struggles and efforts which filled up the 
ages from the overthrow of the old order of things, 
down to the establishment of the new, that species 
of mysticism which was connected with martyr- 
dom, had ample opportunities for development. 
Christianity had had all the time necessary to take 
firm and deep root throughout the whole extent of 
the Roman empire. Now, when the inundations 
had come down from the North, it had to contend 
with a new species of heathenism ; and then again, 
when the tempestuous invasion had rolled up from 
the South, it had to combat with that new species 
of Judaism, which the sons of the desert had fash- 
ioned. Equally severe was the struggle which 
arose between the different confessions of Chris- 
tianity, when Arianism encountered the old Catho- 
lic doctrine ; especially when the sectarian spirit, 



IRELAND IN THE A GE8 OF FAITH. 151 

united to policy, urged the Yandal kings in Africa 
to the wildest and most fanatical persecution. In 
all these struggles, thousands of victims bled ; 
but their faith stood by their side to minister con- 
solation ; and the same mystical enthusiasm, 
which, on the bloody path of martyrdom, had 
raised their predecessors above themselves, did 
not deny them its aid. 

All not engaged in the combat took refuge in 
the ark of the Church, which, amid the mighty 
swell of waters floating hither and thither, 
guarded the treasures concealed within it, and 
while, amid the general tumult of the times it 
secured a peaceful asylum to religious meditation, 
it continually promoted the contemplative, as well 
as heroic, martyrdom. Such an asylum was 
found, from the middle of the fifth century, in 
the green Emerald Isle, the ancient Erin, whose 
secluded situation and watery boundaries, as they 
had once served to protect her from the disorders 
of the Roman empire, now sheltered her from the 
storms of the migration of nations. Thither, 
seeking protection w T ith St. Patrick, the Church 
had migrated to take up her winter quarters, and 
had lavished all her blessings on the people, who 
gave her so hospitable a reception. Under her 
influence, the manners of the nation were rapidly 
refined ; monasteries and schools flourished on 
all sides ; and as the former were distinguished 
for their austere discipline and ascetic piety, so 



152 FALL AND DISASTERS OF THE JEWS. 

the latter were conspicuous for their cultivation 
of science. While the flames of war were blazing 
around her, the green isle enjoyed the sweets oi 
repose. When we look into the ecclesiastical life 
of this people, we are almost tempted to believe 
"*that some potent spirit had transported overthQ 
sea, the cells of the valley of the Mle, with all 
their hermits, its monasteries, with all their in- 
mates, and had settled them down in the Western 
Isle ; an isle, which, in the lapse of three cen- 
turies, gave eight hundred and fifty saints to the 
Church ; — won over to Christianity the north of 
Britain, and soon after, a large portion of the yet 
pagan Germany ; and, while it devoted the ut- 
most attention to the sciences, cultivated, with 
especial care, the mystical contemplation in her 
religious communities, as well as in the saints 
whom they produced. — Garres. 



FALL AND DISASTERS OF THE JEWS. 

In the general slaughter to which the inhabitants 
of Jerusalem were consigned, eleven hundred 
thousand perished by the sword, and the rest 
were doomed to all the horrors of captivity. In 
the history of Josephus, we discover the literal ap- 
plication of the ancient prophecies to the disasters 



FALL AND DISASTERS OF TEE JEWS. 153 

of Jerusalem. " Howdoth the city sit solitary that 
was full of people ! My eyes have failed with 
weeping, when the sucklings fainted away in the 
streets, and breathed out their souls in the bosom 
of their mothers. The voice of howlings is heard ; 
the cedar is fallen, and its glory is laid waste. 
The streets of the city are silent, and darkness 
and desolation are on its den forever." 

Yes ; such was the miserable condition to which 
the Jews were reduced after the destruction of 
their city, that they were prohibited from com- 
ing within a certain distance of its ancient bound- 
aries. The Romans feared that a place, so long 
the theatre of supernatural agency, would inspire 
the Jews with the hope of reviving their former 
glory. Hence, ]ike their progenitors at Babylon, 
the Jews were doomed to sigh their distant devo- 
tions towards Sion ; or obliged, as we are told by 
St. Jerome, to purchase, from the avarice of the 
soldiers, permission to undertake a sorrowful 
pilgrimage to the ruins of their former temple. 
Still they cherished some lingering hope of its res- 
toration. After having rejected the true Messiah, 
who had proved His mission by miracles the most 
incontestable, this unfortunate nation became the 
dupe of a succession of impostors, who ros-e and 
disappeared, flattering them with hopes of con- 
quest, which were suddenly dissipated. Now, 
deluded by Judas, the Gaulonite, and again by 
Barchochebas, who severally pretended to be the 



154 FALL AND DISASTERS OF THE JEWS. 

promised deliverer of Israel, they strove to shake 
off the yoke of the Romans, which was but laid 
still more heavily upon them. The fanaticism of 
Barchochebas and his followers provoked the ven- 
geance of Adrian, who inflicted the severest chas- 
tisements on that devoted race. 

Without a single ray of hope to cheer the gloom 
of despondence, save what they derived from the 
passing and delusive meteor of some false prophet, 
they languished until the reign of Julian, who 
reassured their drooping spirits, by a promise of 
rebuilding their temple, and restoring their scat- 
tered nation. Tempted by the encouragement, 
which was held out to them in the year 361, they 
assembled from the remotest countries, to give 
their aid to the project. In their zeal to restore 
their ancient worship, they sacrificed every other 
consideration ; and the enthusiasm of the child- 
ren of Abraham was enlisted in the service of the 
imperial apostate. But the hand of the Almighty 
defeated the rash and impious project ; and, 
like the architects of Babel, the workmen were 
scattered by the vengeance of Heaven. There 
is no fact in ancient history better attested 
than the miraculous interposition, which sus- 
pended the rebuilding of the Jewish temple. 
Independently of the authorities of St. Chrys- 
ostom and St. Gregory Nazianzen, the circum- 
stances are thus told by Ammianus Marcellinus, 
a pagan historian : " Whilst Alypius, assisted by 



FALL AND DISASTERS OF THE JEWS. 155 

the governor of the province, urged with vigor 
and diligence the execution of the work, horrible 
balls of fire breaking out near the foundation, 
with frequent and reiterated attacks, rendered the 
place, from time to time, inaccessible to the 
scorched and blasted workmen; and the victorious 
element continuing in this manner, obstinately 
and resolutely bent, as it were, to drive them to 
a distance, the undertaking was abandoned." 

But, whilst the infidel tortures his invention by 
unavailing sophistry, the enlightened Christian 
beholds, in the frustrated attempts of Julian, the 
completion of the Redeemer's prediction. In- 
stead of ascribing to chance or accident, the balls 
of fire that issued from the earth and scorched 
and smote the workmen, he beholds, in them, the 
effects of the divine wrath, thus described by the 
psalmist : "Why have the Gentiles raged, and the 
people devised vain things? The kings of the 
earth stood up, and the princes met together 
against the Lord, and against his Christ. Let us 
break their bonds asunder ; and let us cast away 
their yoke from us. He that dwelleth in the 
heavens, shall laugh at them : and the Lord shall 
deride them. Then shall he speak to them in his 
anger, and trouble them in his rage." 

—Dr. MacHale. 



156 THE MUSICAL PO WEBS OF CAROL AN. 

TESTING THE MUSICAL POWERS OF CAR- 
OLAN. 

The Irish Orpheus, Carolan, seems, from the 
description we have of him, to have been a 
genuine representative of the ancient bards. 
Though blind and untaught, yet his attainments 
in music were of the highest order. At what 
period of his life Carolan commenced as an itiner- 
ant musician is not known ; nor is it ascertained 
whether, like many others, he n'eut abord 
d? autre Apollon que le besoin, or whether his 
fondness for music induced him to betake him- 
self to that profession. Dr. Campbell, indeed, 
seems to attribute his choice of it to an early dis- 
appointment in love. But wherever he went, the 
gates of the nobility and gentry were thrown 
open to him, and a distinguished place was as- 
signed him at table. Carolan thought the tribute 
of a song due to every house where he was enter- 
tained, and he seldom failed to pay it, choosing 
for his subject either the head of the family, or 
the loveliest of its branches. Indeed on every 
occasion, the emotions of his heart, whether of 
joy or grief, were expressed in his harp. Many a 
favorite fair has been the theme of a beautiful 
planxty ; and as soon as the first excess of grief 
for the loss of his wife had subsided, he composed 
a monody on her death, teeming with harmony 
and poetic beauties. 



THE MUSICAL PO WEBS OF CAROLAN 157 

The fame of Carolan soon extended over Ireland, 
and, among others, reached the ears of an emin- 
ent Italian music master in Dublin, who, putting 
his abilities to a severe test, became convinced 
how well his reputation was merited. The Italian 
singled out an excellent piece of music, but in 
several places either altered or mutilated the 
piece, although in such a manner as that no one 
but a real judge could make the discovery. It 
was then played to Carolan, who bestowed the 
deepest attention on the performance, although 
he was not aware of its being intended as a trial 
of his skill, or that the critical moment was then 
at hand which was to determine his reputation. 

When it was finished, and Carolan was asked 
his opinion, he declared that it was an admirable 
piece of music ; but, said he, very humorously, in 
his own language, ta se air chois air bacaighe ; 
that is, here and there it limps and stumbles. 
He was then requested to rectify the errors ; and 
this he did immediately, to the astonishment of 
the Italian, who pronounced Carolan to be a true 
musical genius. 



158 IRISH NATIONAL HYMN 



IRISH NATIONAL HYMN FOR SAINT 
PATRICK'S DAY 

Though the veil of sorrow o'er Erin lies, 
Like a black cloud on lovely summer skies ; 
Though her ancient crown decks a stranger' s 

brow, 
And her golden harp strings are silent now ; 
Though ruin rule upon her green -robed towers, 
And misery around her thickly show'rs ; 
Though Freedom bleeds upon her verdant 

plains, 
And Slavery 'round her winds his galling 

chains, 
Is there a land — howe'er by fortune blest — 
More dear than she to any Irish breast ? 
Is there a land, on which all blessings smile, 
More dear to us than thou, our mother isle? 
What favored land holds o'er our hearts the 

sway 
Of Erin dear, on this St. Patrick's Day \ 

Why now recall to mind thy glories fled, 
Or mention here the names of heroes dead % 
Why say no Roman dared to touch thy shore, 
When earth seemed small for Roman eagles' 

soar % 
Why say religion found in thee a home, 
And Erin ne'er could win thy heart from Rome? 



IRISH NATIONAL HYMN. 159 

Why say that learning borrowed light from 

thee, 
And thou of Europe seemedst the sun to be % 
Art thou less dear beneath thy gloom and 

tears, 
Than if crowned with the glory of former years? 
Are thy sons less faithful than in by-gone times, 
When thy halo beamed on the most distant 

climes % 
Sorrow nor age can make our love decay, 
Green is it now, on this "St. Patrick's Day. 

On the altar's step, on the flinty stone, 
Where the North- snows fa]l, and the South- 
streams moan, 
For the aged priest, for the mountaineer, 
For the lowly peasant, for the noble peer, 
For the student young, who preserves the fire 
He caught from the heart of his Irish sire, 
In the distant lands where the Celtic race 
Shows its stalwart form and its manly face, 
Thy name, O Erin, is the noble theme, 
(The long-lost Paradise thou now dost seem) : 
Thy ancient glories from the grave arise, 
And thou shines t brightly before all eyes. 
O let us, then, whatever tyrants say, 
Proclaim our love on this St. Patrick's Day. 

Behold Erin now, as yet she shall be, 
Lighting with glory the dark-swelling sea; 



160 AX EXTRACT FROM AN ORATION. 

See smiles like the sun on her radiant face, 
Cheering the hearts of her wide-scattered race, 
See the gay glance which on earth she bestows, 
And mark how the eye of each proud Celt 

glows ; 
See Freedom robe her with the brightest beams, 
And sweet Plenty bloom by her holy streams; 
See her temples rise, as in days of yore; 
Hear the sacred songs swell from shore to shore; 
O Lord on high, her from dark evil save; 
Cast blessings rare on her Thy faithful slave; 
Bless those who speak, if but one word they 

say 
For Erin green, on this St. Patrick's Day. 

— Treacy. 



AN EXTEACT FROM AN" ORATION. 

Circumscribed as we are, I say nothing of the 
massacres of the faithful Irish ; I say nothing of 
the bloody atrocities of Cromwell at Drogheda, 
where he sold most treacherously the gallant 
garrison, or at Wexford, where his brutal soldiers 
massacred the unprotected women that crowded 
around the great cross craving mercy ; I say 
nothing of the children strangled with their 
mother's hair ; I say nothing of the artificial fam- 
ine that compelled the parent to devour the ten- 



AIT EXTRA GT FROM AN ORA TION. 161 

der, unconscious child ; I do not dwell upon the 
wretchedness of dying by the roadside, while 
the tyrant passes by and regards the almost 
lifeless form with scorn and aversion ; I do not 
wait to tell you of the graves to which your brave 
fathers were hurried — those graves which the 
foe has desecrated ; I do not direct your attention 
to those old abbeys which the hand of the rav- 
ager has torn down ; I do not look at those altars 
— the altars where your free forefathers sought 
comfort — those altars which have been trampled 
upon by the f oeman — which have been destroyed 
by the miscreant servants of a bloody Henry, a 
despotic Elizabeth, or a ruthless Cromwell. 

Our race is indestructible, it would seem, for 
despi te persecution it will exist and prosper. To- 
day, this emblem of nationality and religion 
which I wear at my breast (the shamrock) is 
worn by Irishmen everywhere. To-day, from sea 
and continent and island, and lake and moun- 
tain, the children of the Emerald Isle direct their 
glances to their " own loved island of sorrow." 
To-day they ponder on the grievance of their 
race. To-day the full recollection of the dire 
oppression of which they have been the victims 
is revealed to them. To-day they long for the 
freedom of their down-trodden Erin. As Irish- 
men, we proclaim ourselves sons of St. Patrick. 
If we be truly sensible of the great honor to which 
we are born, we ought to endeavor to show our- 



162 AN EXTRA CT FROM AN OR A TION. 

selves worthy children of our noble father. The 
religion which he committed to the care of our 
forefathers, has been by them faithfully trans- 
mitted to us. The greater our devotion towards 
our faith, the nearer we approach St. Patrick. 
Appreciate your faith, love its dogmas, proclaim 
its excellency, practise its morality, instil its prin- 
ciples into the minds of your children, and teach 
them by your #xample to revere and prize it. 
You are the children of St. Patrick, who pleads 
for you in heaven ; you are engaged in the same 
warfare as that in which he won his crown. You 
are descendants of those pure and stainless char- 
acters, that united the fiery chivalry of the 
knight to the meek and benign demeanor of the 
monk. From the ruined castles which these 
men so bravely defended, from the plain of Clon- 
tarf where Brien clipped the wings of the Danish 
Raven; from the verdant dale where the flag of 
"God and our Lady" was proudly unfurled, 
from the mounds of earth, beneath which the 
dust of our valiant progenitors lies entombed, 
from the eight hundred and fifty saints that in 
three centuries shone like diamonds upon the 
face of the land, a voice calls upon you to love 
your country, to love your brethren, to love 
your God. — Treacy. 



TO MA UBICE F. EGA2T. 163 

TO MAURICE F. EGAN. 

Can' st thou expect me here to paint 

The feelings stamp' d upon my soul ? 
Or dost thou think that words can tell, 

How warm the waves that through it roll? 
~No, words have not the power to show 

The love I bear my dearest friends, — 
Time in his march alone will prove 

That my warm friendship never ends. 
There is a rock by England's shore, 

On which a Saint hath left his tread, 
Which time nor waves, though both combine, 

Can e'er efface— I one time read : 
A brilliant lamp, beside a tomb, 

In Palestine forever burns, 
Its tongue of fire, so bright, so pure, 

Towards the departed ever turns ; 
Not like the rock, both hard and cold, 

My heart will bear the thought of Thee, 
But like the lamp, 'twill glow, and turn 

To thee— dear friend— where'er thou' It be. 

— Treacy. 



164 THE PENAL DA Y8. 



THE PENAL DAYS. 

"Oh, weep those days, the penal day's, 
When Ireland hopelessly complained." — Dams. 

Weep not beside a martyr's grave, 
Weep not o'er hunted virtue true ; 

Weep not the hour that proved man brave- 
Though blood lent hill and dale its hue. 

Why should we weep the penal times 
That showed our country's love of Right? 

Let us forget the tyrants' crimes, 
And sing the stars of Erin's night 

When peaceful bloomed our garden land, 

The hermit and the monk arose, 
And every vale heard virgin-band 

Sing love of God, at evening's close ; 
But when our air with war was red, 

From cells and caves Truth's soldiers came, 
And every rock a glory shed 

Around some Irish martyr's name. 

We must not weep the penal days 

That sanctified our hills and plains ; 
We must not shudder when we gaze 

At men that feared nor death nor chains. 
In blood and tears, 'neath penal laws, 

Saint Erin's heart was purified ; 
For holy Faith, and Freedom's cause, 

Our martyred nation grandly died. 

— Treacy 



CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. 165 



CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. 

No matter what may be the birthplace of such 
a man as Washington, no climate can claim, 
no country can appropriate him : the boon of 
Providence to the human race, his fame is eter- 
nity, his residence creation. Though it was the 
defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of our policy, 
I almost bless the convulsion in which he had his 
origin $ if the heavens thundered and the earth 
rocked, yet when the storm passed, how pure was 
the climate that it cleared; how bright in the 
brow of the firmament was the planet it revealed 
to us ! In the production of Washington, it does 
really appear as if nature was endeavoring to im- 
prove on herself, and that all the virtues of the 
ancient world were but so many studies prepar- 
atory to the patriot of the new. 

Individual instances no doubt there were; 
splendid exemplifications of some single qualifi- 
cation : Csesar was merciful, Scipio was conti- 
nent; Hannibal was patient; but it was reserved 
for Washington to blend them all in one, and like 
the lovely master-piece of the Grecian artist to ex- 
hibit in one glow of associated beauty, the pride 
of every model, and the perfection of every master. 

As a general, he marshalled the peasant into 
a veteran, and supplied by discipline the absence 
of experience. As a statesman, he enlarged the 



IQQ CHARACTER OF WASHINGTON. 

policy of the cabinet into the most comprehensive 
system of general advantage ; and snch was the 
wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his 
counsels, that to the soldier and the statesman, 
he almost added the character of the sage. 

A conqueror, he was untainted with the crime 
of blood ; a revolutionist, he was free from any 
stain of treason ; for aggression commenced the 
contest, and a country called him to the com- 
mand ; liberty unsheathed his sword ; necessity 
stained, victory returned it. If he had paused 
here, history might doubt what station to assign 
him ; whether at the head of her citizens or her 
soldiers, her heroes or her patriots. But the last 
glorious act crowned his career, and banished 
hesitation. Who like Washington, after having 
freed a country, resigned her crown, and retired 
to a cottage rather than reign in a capitol ? 

Immortal man ! He took from the battle its 
crime, and from the conquest its chains ; he left 
the victorious the glory of his self-denial, and 
turned upon the vanquished only the retribution 
of his mercy. Happy, proud America ! The 
lightnings of heaven yielded to your philosophy ! 
The temptations of earth could not seduce your 
patriotism ! — Phillips. 



KING RICHARD AND THE MINSTREL. 167 



KING RICHARD AND THE MINSTREL. 

The singular manner of discovering the situa- 
tion of King Richard the First, when a prisoner to 
Leopold, Duke of Austria, which Fauchet relates 
from an ancient chronicle, is thus related in 
Mrs. Dobson's Literary History of the Trouba- 
dours: 

A minstrel, called Blondel, who owed his fortune 
to Richard, animated with tenderness towards his 
illustrious master, was resolved to go over the 
world till he had discovered the destiny of this 
prince. He had already traversed Europe, and 
was returning through Germany, when, talking 
one day at Lintz, in Austria, with the innkeeper, 
in order to make this discovery, he learned that 
there was near the city, at the entrance of a forest, 
a strong and ancient castle, in which there was a 
prisoner, who was guarded with great care. 

A secret impulse persuaded Blondel that this 
prisoner was Richard. He went immediately to 
the castle, the sight of which made him tremble. 
He got acquainted with a. peasant, who went often 
there to carry provisions ; questioned, and offered 
him a considerable sum to declare who it was that 
was shut up there ; but the good man, though he 
readily told all he knew, was ignorant both of the 
name and quality of the prisoner. 

He could only inform him, that he was watched 



168 SING RICHARD AND THE MINSTREL. 

with the most exact attention, and was suffered 
no communication with any one but the keeper 
of the castle, and his servants. He added, that 
the prisoner had no other amusement than look- 
ing over the country through a small grated win- 
dow, which served also for the light that glim- 
mered into his apartment. 

He told him that this castle was a horrid abode ; 
that the staircase and the apartments were black 
with age, and so dark, that, at noon-day, it was 
necessary to have a lighted flambeau to find the 
way along them. Blondel listened with eager at- 
tention, and meditated several ways of coming at 
the prison, but all in vain. 

At last, when he found that, from the height 
and narrowness of the window, he could not get a 
sight of his dear master, who, he firmly believed, 
was there, he bethought himself of a French song, 
the last couplet of which had been composed by 
Eichard, and the first by himself. After he had 
sung, with a loud and harmonious voice, the first 
part, he suddenly stopped, and heard a voice, 
which came from the castle window, "Continue, 
and finish the song." Transported with joy, he 
was now assured it was the king, his master, who 
was confined in this dismal castle. 

The chronicle adds, that, one of the keeper's 
servants falling sick, he hired himself to him, and 
thus made himself known to Richard ; and, in- 
forming his nobles, with all possible expedition, 



ONES OF THE MIDDLE AGES. 169 

of the situation of their monarch, he was released 
from his confinement, on paying a large ran- 
som. 



THE STUDIOUS MONKS OF THE MIDDLE 
AGES. 

But for the monks, the light of liberty, and 
literature and science had been forever extin- 
guished; and for six centuries there existed for 
the thoughtful, the gentle, the inquiring, the de- 
vout spirit, no peace no security, no home but the 
cloister. There, learning trimmed her lamp ; 
there, contemplation plumed her wings , there, 
the traditions of art preserved from age to age by 
lonely studious men kept alive in form and color 
the idea of a beauty beyond that of earth — of a 
might beyond that of the spear and the shield — 
of a divine sympathy with suffering humanity. 
To this we may add another and a stronger claim 
to our respect and moral sympathies. The pro- 
tection and the better education given to women 
in these early communities; the venerable and 
distinguished rank assigned to them, when as 
governesses of their order, they became in a man- 
ner dignitaries of the Church ; the introduction 
of their beautiful and saintly effigies, clothed with 
all the insignia of sanctity and authority into the 



170 AFFECTION DUE TO A MOTHER 

t decoration of places of worship and books of de- 
votion — did more perhaps, for the general cause 
of womanhood than all the boasted institutions of 
chivalry. — Mrs. Jameson, 



THE AFFECTION AND REVERENCE DUE 
TO A MOTHER. 

What an awful state of mind must a man have 
attained, when he can despise a mother's counsels! 
Her very name is identified with every idea that 
can subdue the sternest mind; that can suggest 
the most profound respect, the deepest and most 
heartfelt attachment, the most unlimited obe- 
dience. It brings to the mind the first human 
being that loved us, the first guardian that pro- 
tected us, the first friend that cherished us; who 
watched with anxious care over our infant life, 
whilst yet we were unconscious of our being ; 
whose days and nights were rendered wearisome 
by her anxious cares for our welfare; whose eager v 
eye followed us through every path we took; who 
gloried in our honor, who sickened in heart at 
our shame; who loved and mourned, when others 
reviled and scorned; and whose affection for us 
survives the wreck of every other feeling within. 
When her voice is raised to inculcate religion, or 



UB LAD Y OF SOBBO W. 171 

to reprehend irregularity, it possesses unnum- 
bered claims to attention, respect and obedience. 
She fills the place of the eternal God; by her lips 
that God is speaking; in her counsels He is con- 
veying the most solemn admonitions; and to dis- 
regard such counsel, to despise such interference, 
to sneer at the wisdom that addresses you, or 
the aged piety that seeks to reform you, is the 
surest and the shortest path which the devil him- 
self could have opened for your perdition. I 
know no grace that can have effect; I know not 
any authority upon earth to which you will listen, 
when once you have brought yourself to reject 
such advice. Nothing but the arm of God, that 
opens the rock and splits the mountain, can open 
your heart to grace, or your understanding to 
correction.— Rev. J. <J Keeffe. 



OUR LADY OF SORROW. 

Dense the gloom of all creation- 

On the blackest spot of all 
Is a lonely Virgin's station, 

Weeping o'er man's deepest fall. 

Dead is Jesus, and His Mother 

Is abandoned on the Hill ; 
Men have slain their God, their brother, 

Now their mother's cup they fill. 



172 OUR LAD T OF 80RR0 W. 

In the city Jews are boasting 
Of the crime that stains to-day, 

Horror, they are vainly toasting ; — 

"Pilate," "Herod," "great are they !" 

Dead is Jesns, thou art sighing, 
Mofher of the Tender Heart, 

Thou art weary, thou art dying, 
Sad is now thy doleful part. 

Mother dearest, Virgin tearful, 
Will no mortals watch with thee \ 

Are the sons of Adam fearful 
Of the Cross — their Saving Tree % 

In the darkness full of sadness, 

May I on the Hill be seen ; 
There I'll hate all sinful madness — 

There I'll love my King and Queen. 

Mary weeping, Jesus bleeding, 

Ever will be dear to me ; 
Sighing, moaning, warmly pleading, 

May I stand on Calvary ! 

— Treacy. 



HER ROSARY OF WELLS. 173 



HER ROSARY OF WELLS. 

Ireland is enriched and beautified by a vast number of wells. 
The following verses poetically account for their origin. 

The Angel spread her gleaming wings 

Upon the golden light ; 
A sweet " adieu " to heaven she sang, 

Then sailed from visions bright. 

Like winged star she crossed the sky, 
She fanned the fields of blue ; 

She passed the moon with heedless eye- 
Down, down to earth she flew. 

She saw the nations of the earth 

In error's baneful shade ; 
She saw the fairest isle below 

In sinful pomp arrayed. 

" Is this the destined home of saints \ 

The chosen isle of God f" 
The Angel dropped a holy tear 
That purified the sod. 

She wept upon the mountain peak, 

She wept in secret dells ; 
She placed on pagan Erin then 

Her Rosary of Wells. 

—Treacy. 



174 MARRIAGE. 



MAERIAGE. 



Marriage is a subject which, at some time or 
other, engages the attention of every man. 
Whether he give it his serious attention or not, 
depends upon the amount of common sense he 
possesses. It is the most serious step a man can 
take, for on it follow future happiness or misery, 
often for the next world as well as this. The 
Church never loses an opportunity of showing 
how worthy of reverence marriage is; it is not 
merely a life contract ; it is a sacrament — mystic, 
holy, sublime. 

No greater evil has come out of the chaos of 
Protestantism than the disregard of the marriage- 
tie which is making our country a by- word of re- 
proach among the nations. Having weakened res- 
pect ior the marriage bond, the devil need do no 
more. He can rest satisfied. The swine rush into 
the sea of their own accord. Passing from the 
lightness and levity with which many Protest- 
ants and indifferentists regard this holy state, 
let us consider the evils which contact with a 
society indifferent or antagonistic to the Church — 
for those who are not with her are against her — 
have worked among ourselves. 

Marriage will always result in happiness if con- 
tracted with the proper disposition. Is there any- 
thing, more holy on earth, except the consecra- 



MARRIAGE. 175 

tion of a soul entirely to God in the religions state, 
than the spectacle of two persons, loving and res- 
pecting each other, firm in their faith, bathed in 
the light of hope, and filled with the grace of God, 
starting out together on the pathway of life ? The 
Church, in her wisdom, advises young people to 
marry, if they have no vocation for the religious 
life. But she does not advise them to follow the 
dictates of blind passion or sentimental caprice, 
in their choice of a partner. She does not advise 
them to rush into matrimony with no thought of 
God ; she bids them remember that they are fol- 
lowers of Christ, not of Cupid or the god Priapus — 
Christians, not Pagans. And yet numbers of our 
young men contract marriage rather as Pagans 
than Christiana. They do not pray to God for 
direction, they do not ask His blessing : conse- 
quently they do not receive it. Prettiness of 
face, grace of form, a certain attraction which the 
novels call "love," but which is as far from be- 
ing worthy of the name as truth is from falsehood, 
decide them ; and when they have decided, they 
swear that Heaven and earth cannot move them. 
The responsibilities of the future are nothing to 
the gratification of the present. The rosy dreams 
of courtship enervate the mind, and if they ever 
think of the future of their married life, it is only 
to regard it as a kind of Mahommed's paradise— 
at best, as a place where the stern realities, sor- 
rows and hardships of the world can never enter. 



176 MARRIAGE. 

Passion pushes God aside, passion casts roses over 
the sharp rocks, passion accompanies them, and 
leads them for a few careless months; and then sud- 
denly the unhappy couple find themselves facing 
the misery of a life which is worse than death. 
Disgust, contempt, sometimes takes the place of 
the spurious love, and this is the end of the day 
that dawned so rosily. 

If a young man's present position is secure, if 
he sees a fair prospect of employment in the fu- 
ture, if he knows a girl whom, in his coolest mo- 
ments, he deems will make him a good wife, it is 
well for him to marry. He who marries a wife 
whom he must plunge into poverty, is devoid of 
^common prudence. It is not neccessary for him 
.to have a large capital in bank. Let him have a 
paying occupation — no matter how small the pay, 
if he and his wife can live on it. Some of the 
happiest marriages we have known were made 
between persons who were compelled to practise 
the strictest economy from the very beginning ; 
and their happiest memories are of the time when 
the wherewithal for their daily expenses gave 
cause for pleasant converse and innumerable con- 
sultations upon ways and means. A little ad- 
versity in the beginning is no bad thing, and if 
bravely faced, with firm trust in God, does not 
last long. 

Marriage is a very solemn thing — to be weighed 
carefully, to be made the subject of earnest 



WHEN NIGHT COMES ON 177 

prayer and profound consideration. It is as holy 
as it is solemn. It blesses those who worthily re- 
ceive it ; and if it prove a curse, it is because the 
participants were unworthy of the graces it 
confers.— Maurice F. JEgan. 



WHEN NIGHT COMES ON. 

i. 
The hour is still, the scene is fair, 

But Night conies on; 
A glory mild fills sky and air, 

But Night comes on; 
With flowers the blooming trees are crowned, 
With softest green the meads are bound, 
The woods shed music all around, 

But Night comes on. 

ii. 
Sad is my heart, and moist my eye, 

For Night comes on; 
I watoh the landscape, and I sigh, 

For Night comes on; 
Much that I love will pass away, 
When pass the beauties of this day — 
In darkness soon my steps will stray, 

For Night comes on. 



178 GOOD-NIGHT. 

III. 
Sweet Jesus, take me by the hand, 

When Night comes on; 
Oh, lead me to my Promised Land, 

When Night comes on; 
Let Thy Fair Face illume my eyes, 
Let Thy Bright Throne before me rise, 
Ah, let me enter Paradise, 

When Night comes on. 

— Treacy. 

GOOD-NIGHT. 
My bark of life now gains the shore. 

Gently she glides along ; 
Behind — she hears the breakers' roar, 

Before — sweet angels' song ; 
Thick darkness falls upon the sea, 

Upon the land soft light, 
To all who sailed the deep with me, 

To friend and foe — Good- Night. 

I bless the lips that shone with smiles, 

When stars forgot to glow ; 
I bless the hundred sunny isles 

That broke my sea of woe; 
The shore is struck, a golden land, 

The sea fades on my sight, 
My faithful bark is on the strand — 

To friend and foe— Good-Night. 

—Treacy. 



THERE IS AL WA T8 LIGHT IN HE A YEN. 179 

THERE IS ALWAYS LIGHT IN HEAVEN. 

1. 

Theee is always light in Heaven — 

Not the light we see afar 
When the West with gold is flowing, 

Nor the light of moon or star 

11. 

Not the light the royal Poet 
Saw around his music thought, 

Nor the light- the favored Moses 
From the mountain summit brought. 

in. 
There is always light in Heaven 

Light the Just alone can see 
When the day of life is ended, 
And the soul from earth is free. 

— Treacy. 



THE TWO WEEPING WILLOWS. 

A well-known writer extricated himself from 
a serious embarrassment in the following way : 
M. Charles Hugo, a novelist of some repute, had 
been several times made the subject of puns co- 
nundrums, etc , in the works of Alexandre Dumas, 



180 THE TWO WEEPING WILLOWS. 

junior. Tired of seeing himself thus held up to 
ridicule, he thought to put an end to this species 
of annoyance by challenging the other to fight a 
duel. After having read it, M. Dumas took a 
piece of paper, and drew upon it two champions 
who clove each other in twain and fell both on 
the ground. Underneath was read the following 
lines: 

*" Yoici le resultat de ce combat fatal! 

lis se sont pardonne, mais ils se sont fait mal." 

M. Dumas then folds the paper in the form of a 
circular, and sends it to his too susceptible friend. 
M. Hugo did not laugh, however ; on the con- 
trary he grew still more red with anger, and sent 
a second challenge more offensive than the first. 
Thereupon the witty Dumas took his pen and 
sketched what follows : A lansdscape in the 
midst of which were seen two weeping willows, 
shading two tombs surrounded by an iron railing 
and watered by a gardener. On the first tomb 
was read : Here lies Hugo ! and on the second ; 
Here lies Dumas ! a little lower were the words; 
Death has re-united them. At this second 
epistle, M. Hugo could not help laughing ; he 
hastens to his friend's residence, shakes him 
warmly by the hand, and promises not to be 
vexed any more. — Hebrard, Journal des bons 
Exemples, III., 442. 



Behold the result of this fatal encounter; 

They forgave one another; but hurt each other sorely. 



TEE BLIND MARTYR. 181 



THE BLIND MARTYR 

Caecelia, a poor blind young girl, warns the Christians, who 
had assembled in the Catacombs to assist at the Holy Sacrifice 
of the Mass, that they have been betrayed to the prefect of Rome. 

Caecelia, already forewarned, "had approached 
the cemetery by a different but neighboring en- 
trance. No sooner had she descended than she 
snuffed the strong odor of the torches. " This is 
none of our incense, I know," she said to herself; 
4 'the enemy is already within." She hastened, 
therefore, to the place of assembly, and delivered 
Sebastian's note; adding also what she had ob- 
served. It warned them to disperse, and seek the 
shelter of the inner and lower galleries; and begged 
of the Pontiff not to leave till he should send 
for him, as his person was particularly sought 
for. 

Pancratius urged the blind messenger to save 
herself too. " No," she replied, "my office is to 
watch the door, and guide the faithful safe." 

"But the enemy may seize you." 

"No matter," she answered, laughing; "my 
being taken may save much worthier lives. Give 
me a lamp, Pancratius." 

"Why, you cannot see by it," observed he, 
smiling. 

"True ; but others can." 

" They may be your enemies." 

' ' Even so, ' ' she answered ; " I do not wish to be 



182 THE BLIND MARTYR 

taken in the dark. If my bridegroom come to 
me in the night of this cemetery, must he not find 
me with my lamp trimmed ?" 

Off she started, reached her post, and hearing 
no noise except that of quiet footsteps, she thought 
they were those of friends, and held up her lamp 
to guide them. 

When the party came forth, with their only 
captive, Fulvius was perfectly furious. It was 
more than a total failure— it was ridiculous — a 
poor mouse come out of the bowels of the earth. 
He rallied Corvinus till the wretch winced and 
foamed; then suddenly he asked, "And where 
is Torquatus?" He heard the account of his 
sudden disappearance, told in as many ways as 
the Dacian guards' adventures; but it annoyed 
him greatly. He had no doubt whatever in his 
own mind, that he had been duped by his supposed 
victim, who had escaped into the unsearchable 
mazes of the cemetery. If so, this captive would 
know, and he determined to question her. He 
stood before her, therefore, put on his most search- 
ing and awful look, and said to her, sternly, u Look 
at me, woman, and tell me the truth." 

"I must tell you the truth without looking at 
you, sir," answered the poor girl, with her cheer- 
fullest smile, and softest voice ; " do you not see 
that I am blind V 

" Blind !" all exclaimed at once, as they crowded 
to look at her. But over the features of Fulvius 



THE BLIND MARTYR. 183 

tliere passed the slightest possible emotion, just 
as much as the wave that runs, pursued by a play- 
ful breeze, over the ripe meadow. A knowledge 
had flashed into his mind, a clue had fallen into 
his hands. 

"It will be ridiculous," he said, "for twenty 
soldiers to march through the city, guarding a 
blind girl. Return to your quarters, and I will 
see that you are well rewarded. You, Corvinus, 
take my horse, and go before to your father, and 
tell him all. I will follow in a carriage with the 
captive." 

u ~No treachery, Fulvius," he said, vexed and 
mortified. 

" Mind you bring her. The day must not pass 
without a sacrifice." 

" Do not fear," was the reply. 

Fulvius, indeed, was pondering whether, having 
lost one spy, he should not try to make another. 
But the calm gentleness of the poor beggar per- 
plexed him more than the boisterous zeal of the 
gamester, and her sightless orbs defied him more 
than the restless roll of the toper's ; still, the first 
thought that had struck him he could still pursue. 
When alone in a carriage with her he assumed a 
soothing tone and addressed her. He knew she 
had not overheard the last dialogue. 

"My poor girl," he said, "how long have you 
been blind?" 

" All my life," she replied. 



184 THE BLIND MARTYR. 

"What is your history? Whence do you 
come?" 

"I have no history. My parents were poor, 
and brought me to Rome, when I was four years 
old, as they came to pray, in discharge of a vow 
made for my life in early sickness, to the blessed 
martyrs Chrysanthus and Daria. They left me in 
charge of a pious lame woman, at the door of the 
title of Fasciola, while they went to their devo- 
tions. It was on that memorable day when many 
Christians were buried at the tomb, by earth and 
stones cast down on them. My parents had the 
happiness to be among them !" 

"And how have you lived since V 9 

"God became my only father then, and his 
Catholic Church my mother. The one feeds the 
birds of the air, the other nurses the weaklings of 
the flock. I have never wanted for anything 
since." 

" But you can walk about the streets freely and 
without fear, as well as if you saw." 

"How do you know that V 9 

' ' I have seen you. Do you remember very early 
one morning in the autumn, leading a poor lame 
man along the Yicus Patricus?" 

She blushed and remained silent. Could he 
have seen her put into the poor old man's purse 
her own share of the alms % "You have owned 
yourself a Christian V he asked, negligently. 

* Oh yes ; how could I deny hV* 



THE BLIND MARTYB. 185 

" Then that meeting was a Christian meeting ?" 

" Certainly ; what else could it bef 

He wanted no more ; his suspicious were ver- 
ified. Agnes, about whom Torquatus had been 
able or willing to tell him nothing, was certainly 
a Christian. His game was made. She must 
yield, or he would be avenged. 

After a pause, looking at her steadfastly, he 
said, " Do you know whither you are going ?" 

" Before the judge of earth, I suppose, who 
will send me to my Spouse in heaven." 

" And so calmly?" he asked in surprise; for 
he could see no token from the soul to the coun- 
tenance but a smile. 

" So joyfully, rather," was her brief reply. 

Having got all that he desired, he consigned 
his prisoner to Corvinus at the gates of the iEmil- 
ian basilica, and left her to her fate. It had 
been a cold and drizzling day, like the preceding 
evening. The weather, and the incidents of the 
night, had kept down all enthusiasm ; and while 
the prefect had been compelled to sit in-doors, 
where no great crowd could collect, as hours had 
passed away without any arrest, trial, or tidings, 
most of the curious had left, and only a few 
more persevering remained past the hour of 
afternoon recreation in the public gardens. But 
just before the captive arrived a fresh knot of 
spectators came in, and stood near one of the 
side-doors, from which they could see all. 



186 THE BLIND MARTYR. 

As Corvinus had prepared his father for what 
he was to expect, Tertullus, moved with some 
compassion, and imagining there could be little 
difficulty in overcoming the obstinacy of a poor 
ignorant, blind beggar, requested the spectators 
to remain perfectly still, that he might try his 
persuasion on her alone, as she would imagine, 
with him ; and he threatened heavy penalties on 
any one who should presume to break the si- 
lence. 

" What is thy name, child ?" 

"Caecelia." 

"It is a noble name ; hast thou it from thy 
family?" 

" JSTo ; I am not noble; except because my 
parents though poor, died for Christ. As I am 
blind, those who took care of me called me Caeca,* 
and then, out of kindness, softened it into 
Caecelia." 

"But, now, give up all this folly of the Chris- 
tians, who have kept thee only poor and blind. 
Honor the decrees of the divine emperors, and 
offer sacrifice to the gods ; and thou shalt have 
riches, and fine clothes, and good fare ; and the 
best physicians shall try to restore thee thy 
sight." 

" You must have better motives to propose to 
me than these ; for the very things for which I 



Blind. 



THE BLIND MARTYR. 187 

most thank God and His Divine Son, are those 
which you would have me put away." 

"How dost thou mean?' ' 

" I thank God that I am poor and meanly clad, 
and fare not daintily ; because by all these things 
I am the more like Jesus Christ, my only 
Spouse." 

" Foolish girl !" interrupted the judge, losing 
patience a little ; " hast thou learnt all these silly 
delusions already ? At least thou canst not thank 
thy God that he has made thee sightless?" 

"For that more than all the rest, I thank Him 
daily and hourly with all my heart." 

" How so ? dost thou think it a blessing never 
to have seen the face of a human being, or the 
sun, or the earth % What strange fancies are 
these?" 

" They are not so, most noble sir. For in the 
midst of what you call darkness, I see a spot of 
what I must call light, it contrasts so strongly with 
all around. It is to me what the san is to you, 
which I know to be local from the varying direc- 
tion of its rays. And this object looks upon me 
as with a countenance of intensest beauty, and 
smiles upon me as ever. And I know it to be 
that of Him whom I love with undivided affec- 
tion. I would not for the world have its splen- 
dor dimmed by a brighter sun, nor its wondrous 
loveliness confounded with the diversities of 
other features, nor my gaze on it drawn aside by 



188 THE BLIND MARTYR. 

earthly visions. I love Him too much, not to wish 
to see Him always alone." 

" Come, come ; let me hear no more of this silly 
prattle. Obey the emperor at once, or I mnst try 
what a little pain will do. That will soon tame 
thee." 

" Pain !" she echoed, innocently. 

" Yes, pain. Hast thou never felt it? hast 
thou never been hurt by any one in thy life f ' 

"Oh, no; Christians never hurt one an- 
other." 

The rack was standing, as usual, before him ; 
and he made a sign to Catulus to place her upon 
it. The executioner pushed her back on it by her 
arms ; and as she made no resistance, she was 
easily laid extended on its wooden couch. The 
loops of the ever-ready ropes were in a moment 
passed round her ankles, and her arms drawn 
over the head. The poor sightless girl saw not 
who did all this ; she knew not but it might be 
the same person who had been conversing with 
her. If there had been silence hitherto, men now 
held their very breath, while Caecelia's lips moved 
in earnest prayer. 

" Once more, before proceeding further, I call 
on thee to sacrifice to the gods, and escape cruel 
torments," said the judge, with a sterner voice. 

" Neither torments nor death," firmly replied 
the victim, tied to the altar, " shall separate me 
from the love of Christ. I can offer up no sacrifice 



THE BLIND MARTYR. 189 

but to the one living God, and its ready oblation 
is myself." 

The prefect made a signal to the executioner, 
and he gave one rapid whirl to the two wheels of 
the rack, round the windlasses of which the ropes 
were wound ; and the limbs of the maiden were 
stretched with a sudden jerk, which, though not 
enough to wrench them from their sockets, as a 
further turn would have done, sufficed to inflict 
an excruciating, or more truly, a racking pain, 
through all her frame. Far more grievous was 
this from the preparation and the cause of it being 
unseen, and from that additional suffering which 
darkness inflicts. A quivering of her features and 
a sudden paleness alone gave evidence of her 
suffering. 

'" Ha ! ha 1" the judge exclaimed, " thou feelest 
that ! Come, let it suffice ; obey, and thou shalt 
be freed." 

She seemed to take no heed of his words, but 
gave vent to her feelings in prayer: "I thank 
Thee, O Lord Jesus Christ, that Thou hast made 
me suffer pain the first time for Thy sake. I 
have loved Thee in peace ; I have loved Thee in 
comfort ; I have loved Thee in joy ; and now in 
pain I love Thee still more. How much sweeter 
it is to be like Thee, stretched upon Thy cross even 
than resting upon the hard couch at the poor 
man's table !" 

" Thou triflest with me !" exclaimed the judge, 



190 THE BLIND MARTYR. 

thoroughly vexed, u and makest light of my 
lenity. We will try something stronger. Here, 
Catulus, apply a lighted torch to her sides." 

A thrill of disgust and horror ran through the 
assembly, which could not help sympathizing with 
the poor blind creature. A murmur of suppressed 
indignation broke out from all sides of the 
hall. 

Osecelia, for the first time, learnt that she was 
in the midst of a crowd. A crimson glow of 
modesty rushed into her brow, her face, and neck, 
just before white as marble. 

The angry judge checked the rising gush of 
feeling and all listened in silence, as she spoke 
again, with warmer earnestness than before. 

" O my dear Lord and Spouse ! I have been ever 
true and faithful to Thee ! Let me suffer pain 
and torture for Thee ; but spare me confusion 
from human eyes. Let me come to Thee at once ; 
not covering my face with my hands in shame, 
when I stand before Thee." 

Another muttering of compassion was heard. 

" Catulus !" shouted the baffled judge, in fury, 
"do your duty, sirrah! What are you about, 
fumbling all day with that torch ?" 

" It is too late. She is dead. ' ' 

" Dead !" cried out Tertullus ; "dead, with 
one turn of the wheel % Impossible !" 

Catulus gave the rack a turn backwards, and 
the body remained motionless. It was true; she 



THE BLIND MARTYR. 191 

had passed from the rack to the throne, from the 
scowl of the judge's countenance to her Spouse's 
welcoming embrace. Had she breathed out her 
pure soul, as a sweet perfume, in the incense of 
her prayer ? or had her heart been unable to get 
back its blood, from the intensity of that first 
virginal blush ? 

In the stillness of awe and wonder, a clear, bold 
voice cried out, from the group near the door, 
" Impious tyrant, dost thou not see that a poor 
blind Christian hath more power over life and 
death than thou or thy cruel masters ?" 

" What ! a third time in twenty-four hours wilt 
thou dare to cross my path? This time thou 
shalt not escape." 

These were Corvinus' words, garnished with a 
furious imprecation, as he rushed from his father' s 
side, round the inclosure before the tribunal, 
towards the group. But as he ran blindly on he 
struck against an officer of herculean build, who, 
no doubt quite accidentally, was advancing from 
it. He reeled, and the soldier caught hold of 
him, saying: 

' You are not hurt, I hope, Corvinus V ' 

<: No, no ; let me go, Quadratus, let me go." 

" Where are you running to in such a hurry? 
Can I help you?" asked his captor, still holding 
him fast. 

" Let me loose, I say, or he will be gone." 

" Who will begone?" 



192 THE BLIND MARTYR. 

"Pancratius," answered Corvinus; "who just 
now insulted my father." 

"Pancratius !" said Quadra tus, looking round, 
and seeing that he had got clear off; "I do not 
see him." And he let him go; but it was too 
late. The youth was safe at Diogenes' in Suburra. 

While this scene was going on, the prefect, 
mortified, ordered Catulus to see the body thrown 
into the Tiber. 

But another officer, muffled in his cloak, step- 
ped aside and beckoned to Catulus, who under- 
stood the sign, and stretched out his hand to re- 
ceive a proffered purse. 

" Out of the Porta Capena, at Lucina's villa, an 
hour after sunset," said Sebastian. 

"It shall be delivered there, safe," said the 
executioner. 

"Of what, do you think, did that poor girl 
die?" asked a spectator from his companion, as 
they went out. 

" Of fright, I fancy," he replied. 

' ' Of Christian modesty, ' ' interposed a stranger, 
who passed them. 

—Cardinal Wisemart s Fabiola. 



RELIGIOUS ORDERS. 193 



KELIGIOUS ORDEKS. 

Since the glory of God and the happiness of 
our fellow-creatures may be promoted by various 
means, by command or by example, according to 
the condition and disposition of each, the advan- 
tages of that institution are manifest, by which, 
besides those who are engaged in active and every- 
day life, there are also found in the Church ascetic 
and contemplative men, who, abandoning the cares 
of life and trampling its pleasures under foot, de- 
vote their whole being to the contemplation of the 
Deity, and the admiration of His works ; or who, 
freed from personal concerns, apply themselves 
exclusively to watch and relieve the necessities 
of others, some by instructing the ignorant or err- 
ing ; some by assisting the ne*edy and afflicted. 
Nor is it the least amongthose marks which com- 
mend to us that Church, which alone has pre- 
served the name and the badges of Catholicity, 
that we see her alone produce and cherish these 
illustrious examples of the eminent virtues and 
of the ascetic life. 

Wherefore, I confess, that I have ardently ad- 
mired the religious orders, and the pious confra- 
ternities, and the other similar admirable institu- 
tions ; for they are a sort of celestial soldiery 
upon earth, provided, corruptions and abuses 
being removed, they are governed according to 



194 RELIGIOUS ORDERS. 

the institutes of the founders, and regulated by 
the Supreme Pontiff for the use of the universal 
Church. For what can be more glorious, than to 
carry the light of truth to distant nations, through 
seas and fires and swords — to traffic in the salva- 
tion of souls alone — to forego the allurements of 
pleasure, and even the enjoyment of conversation 
and of social intercourse, in order to pursue, un- 
disturbed, the contemplation of abstruse truths 
and divine meditation — to dedicate oneself to the 
education of youth in science and in virtue — to 
assist and console the wretched, the despairing, 
the lost, the captive, the condemned, the sick — in 
squalor, in chains, in distant lands — undeterred 
even by the fear of pestilence from the lavish ex- 
ercise of these heavenly offices of charity! The 
man who knows not, or despises these things, has 
but a vulgar and plebeian conception of virtue : 
he foolishly measures the obligations of men 
towards their God by the perfunctory discharge of 
ordinary duties, and by that frozen habit of life, 
devoid of zeal, and even of soul, which prevails 
commonly among men. For it is not a counsel, 
as some persuade themselves, but a strict precept, 
to labor with every power of soul and body, no 
matter in what condition of life we may be, for the 
attainment of Christian perfection, with which 
neither wedlock, nor children, nor public office, 
are incompatible (although they throw difficult- 
ies in the way), but it is only a counsel to select 



GLORIO US RETRACTATION OF FENELON. 195 

that state of life which is more free from earthly- 
obstacles, upon which selection Our Lord con- 
gratulated Magdalen. — Leibnitz. 



GLORIOUS RETRACTATION OF FENELON. 

You may probably have heard of Fenelon, Arch- 
bishop of Cambrai. He was one of the most 
learned prelates in France ; and was at the same 
time one of the most pious and submissive to the 
Church. In the year 1697 he had published a 
work entitled : ' ' Explanation of the Maxims of the 
Saints," which work was condemned soon after 
by Pope Innocent XII. This sad news reached 
Cambrai on the 25th of March, 1699, the day of 
the Annunciation, just as the Archbishop was 
about to enter the pulpit. However deeply af- 
fected he might be by a decision which he did not 
expect, he only required a few moments' reflec- 
tion to change the plan of the discourse he was 
about to deliver. He turned it on the perfect sub- 
mission we are bound to pay to the authority of 
our superiors, on which he spoke with such touch- 
ing fervor as to draw tears from the whole audi- 
ence. On the 9th of April following he published 
a mandamus to this effect: "Our Holy Father 
the Pope has condemned a book entitled ' Explan- 



196 GLORIOUS RETRACTATION OF FENELON. 

ation of the Maxims of the Saints,' by a brief 
dated March 12th, 1699. We adhere to that 
brief, beloved brethren, simply, absolutely, and 
without the shadow of restriction. With our 
whole heart we exhort you to entire submission 
and unreserved docility, lest insensibly you alter 
the simplicity of devotion to the Holy See, 
whereof we shall, by the grace of God, give you 
an example to the last moment of our life. God 
forbid that aught should be ever said of us, if it 
were not that being a pastor we showed ourselves 
more docile than the last sheep of our flock, and 
set no bounds to our submission.' ' In order to 
leave to his diocese a monument of his submission 
and docility, he caused an ostensary to be made 
for the Blessed Sacrament, borne by two Angels ; 
one of them trampled under foot divers bad books, 
on one of which was read : Explanation of the 
Maxims of the Saints. Let us beware, after such 
a beautiful example, to do like so many of the ig- 
norant and unthinking who pretend to dogmatize, 
blame and criticize, when the decisions of the 
church or her pastors do not fall in with their 
ideas. — JSchmid et Belet, Cat. Mist., L, 306. 



PATRON OF THE POOR. 197 

PATRON OF THE POOR. 

A ceetaiit Cardinal, by the multitude of his 
generous actions, gave occasion for the world to 
call him, The Patron of the Poor. This eccles- 
iastical prince had a constant custom, once a week 
to give public audience to all indigent people, in 
the hall of his palace, and to relieve every one, 
according to their various necessities, or the mo- 
tions of his own bounty. 

One day, a poor widow, encouraged by the fame 
of his bounty, came into the hall of this cardinal, 
with her only daughter, a beautiful maid, about 
fifteen years of age. When her turn came to be 
heard, among a crowd of petitioners, the cardinal, 
observing the marks of an extraordinary modesty 
in her face and carriage, as also in her daughter, 
encouraged her to tell her wants freely. 

She blushing, and not without tears, thus ad- 
dressed herself to him : " My lord, I owe, for the 
rent of my house, five crowns ; and, such is my 
misfortune, that I have no way left to pay it, save 
what would break my heart (and my landlord 
threatens to force me»to it), that is, to disgrace 
this my only daughter, whom I have hitherto, 
with great care, educated in the paths of virtue. 

"What I beg of your eminence is that you would 
be pleased to interpose your authority, and pro- 
tect us from the violence of this cruel man, till, 
by honest industry, we can procure the money for 



198 PATRON OF TEE POOR. 

him." The cardinal, moved with admiration of 
the woman's virtue and modest request, bade her 
be of good courage . then he immediately wrote a 
billet. "Go," said he, " to my steward, and he 
shall deliver thee five crowns to pay thy rent." 

The widow, overjoyed, and returning the car- 
dinal a thousand thanks, went directly to the 
steward, and gave him the note. When he had 
read it, he told out fifty crowns. She, astonished 
at the meaning of it, and not knowing what the 
cardinal had written, refused to take above five 
crowns, saying, she mentioned no more to his 
eminence, and she was sure it was some mistake. 

On the other hand, the steward insisted on his 
master's order, not daring to call it in question. 
But all the arguments he could use were insuffi- 
cient to prevail on her to take any more than five 
crowns. Wherefore, to end the controversy, he 
offered to go back with her to the cardinal, and 
refer it to him. 

When they came before that munificent prince, 
and he was fully informed of his business, "It is 
true," said he, "I mistook in writing fifty 
crowns ; give me the paper, and I will rectify it." 
Upon which he wrote again, saying to the 
woman, "So much candor and virtue deserve a 
recompense. Here, I have ordered you five hun- 
dred crowns ; what you can spare of it, lay up, 
as a dowry to give with your daughter in mar- 
riage. " 



MA TEH IN VIOLA TA. 199 



MATER INVIOLATA. 

I stood in thought beside a circling sea, 
Whose waters were more clear than morning 

light ; 
More calm than those that first met Adam's 

sight, 
More beautiful than those of earth can be ; 
No slimy weed, nor jagged stone nor tree, 
Was ever mirrored in those waters bright ; 
But there I saw deep golden rays that might 
Shine in the court of the Divinity ; 
'Twas thy pure soul, O Mary, kind and sweet, 
That came to cheer my heart and glad mine 

eyes — 
For in thy soul so calm, so pure, so mild, 
The piercing gaze of God could never meet — 
As there, alone, the Sun of Justice lies — 
A thing of earth, or aught by earth defiled. 

— Treacy. 



THERE IS HOPE FOR ERIK 

Theee is hope for Erin, 
While in ten thousand cells, 
Where devotion ever dwells, 
The meek -faced nuns are telling, 



200 THERE IS HOPE FOR ERIN. 

While their hearts with love are swelling, 
Ten thousand rosaries for Erin. 

There is hope for Erin, 
While monk and saintly priest 
Offer up the Sacred Feast, 
With tears and nightly sighing, 
For an Isle in sorrow lying, 
An isle whose music- name is Erin. 

There is hope for Erin : 
Her sons, to virtue true, 
By their holy actions sue 
From God the choicest blessing, 
From the Sacred Heart caressing 
For the Sacred Heart's own isle, Erin. 

There is hope for Erin: 
While angel-censers wave, 
While her saints for mercy crave, 
While Virgin-Mother's pleading 
Can move the Victim bleeding 
On thy altar's sacred stone, Erin, 

— Treacy. 



AN ODE TO ST. ISIDORE. 201 

XN ODE TO ST. ISIDOKE. 

(St. Isidore, Patron of Madrid, was an humble laborer who 
sanctified himself in the midst of his daily toils. While his 
hand guided the plough, his heart communed with God and His 
holy Angels. The various aspects of nature gave him continual 
food for divine contemplation.) 

Wake not the golden stringed lyres, 

Let their rich music sleep ; 
Be still, be still, ye human choirs, 

Ye lutes a silence keep ; 
For birds of snowy wing and breast, 

And scented winds among the trees, 
And wells that in deep valleys rest, 

And sunlit streams that gild the leas, 
Will claim their right for evermore 
To sing of pure-soul' d Isidore. 

There comes a voice from hidden lakes, 

Softer than Summer's breeze, 
There swells a hum by lonely brakes, 

Like music on the seas. 
The tempest-breath shakes mountain-peak, 

And 'mong the rocks makes melody ; 
The birds through all the forests speak 

In tones of richest harmony ; 
And all in measured numbers pour 
The praises of St. Isidore. 

Teach us, meek Saint, we humbly pray, 
The Lord in all to view, 



202 THE WORLD. 

His steps to trace in meadows gay, 
And in the heavens blue ; 

To read His Beauty in each flower 
That we espy in cultured dell, 

To know what is the awful power 
That bound the vale by rocky fell ; 

May all in Nature we explore 

Lead us to God and Isidore. 



—Treacy. 



THE WORLD. 



'Tis vain to seek for bliss below — 
The ancient curse will ever burn ; 

Our earth is but the nurse of woe — 
Who seeks true joys, to God must turn. 

Our gardens bear each hateful weed, 
While all around the briers bloom ; 

From Paradise no blissful seed 
Was blown afar to Adam's tomb. 

There is no stone on earth to build 
A house where drossless joys abide ; 

There is no gold with power to gild 
A peaceful home for human pride. 

The world is but a stagnant lake, 
Reflecting lovely shores and skies ; 

Its dazzling stillness dare to break, 
And lo ! what foulness in it lies.— Treacy. 



MAPOLEON'S STATUE. 203 



NAPOLEON'S STATUE. 

I nevek saw the Emperor Napoleon I. more 
indignant than on the occasion of which I 
am going to speak. The celebrated sculptor, 
Canova, had been employed to make his statue; 
he unluckily represented him in the form of a 
heathen deity, the god Mars, holding in his hand 
a little statue of victory. The whole was of 
white marble, somewhat more than life-size, and 
of admirable workmanship. As soon as it was 
finished, it was sent to Paris, and was placed in 
one of the lower halls of the Louvre, awaiting 
the Emperor's inspection. The better to bring 
out the whiteness of the marble, and to give it a 
warm flesh -like hue, care had been taken to hang 
the hall with red drapery. These preparations 
finished, the Emperor hastened to go and see Ca- 
nova' s new masterpiece. But scarcely had he en- 
tered when he almost started back with horror: 
"What insolence is this?" cried he, addressing M. 
Denon, the Director of the Imperial Museum; 
u how had any one the impudence to represent me 
in such a way as that? I will never allow that statue 
to be exposed to public view What would any 
decent family say, seeing the rules of decency 
and propriety so violated? Canova is mistaken; 
the beauty of his work is effaced by its indignity. 
I do not want to have this vile thing destroyed, 



204 RESPECT FOR FENELON. 

but yon shall hide it under a veil, and I forbid it to 
be shown to any one whatever, and for the fntnre 
I will not have a word said of it in the papers." 
Do yon not admire with me, this just indignation 
of the Emperor? Never forget that the eternal 
laws of God mnst never yield to the egotistical 
considerations of art. 



EESPECT FOR FENEL01ST 

When, after the taking of Bonchain in 1721, the 
estates of the see of Cambrai were exposed to the 
plunder of the troops, such was the respect that 
the Duke of Marlborough bore to the good Arch- 
bishop Fenelon, that he ordered a detachment 
to guard the magazines of corn at Chateau 
Cambresis, and gave a safe conduct for their con- 
veyance to Cambrai ; and when even this pro- 
tection in consequence of the scarcity of bread 
was not likely to be respected by the soldiery, he 
sent a corps of dragoons with wagons to transport 
the grain, and escort it to the precincts of the 
town. Thus did the most illustrious of generals 
pay homage to the Christian philosopher, who 
honored letters by this genius, religion by his 
piety, France by his renown, and human nature 
by his amiable virtues ; and thus did he, in his 



CANDID CULPRIT. 205 

conduct towards the author of Telemachus 
imitate Alexander at the capture of Thebes, when 
in the language of Milton, — 

"The great Emathian conqueror did spare 
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 
"Went to the ground." 



CANDID CULPRIT. 

The Duke of Ossuna, Viceroy of Naples, 
passing through Barcelona, went on board the 
Cape galley, and passing through the crew of 
slaves, he asked several of them what their offences 
were? Every one excused himself upon various 
pretences; one said he was put in out of malice, 
another by bribery of the judge; but all of them 
unjustly. The duke came at last to a sturdy lit- 
tle man, whom he questioned as to what he was 
there for ? " My lord," said he, " I cannot deny 
but I am justly put in here; for I wanted money, 
and so took a purse near Tarragona, to keep me 
from starving." The duke, on hearing this, gave 
him two or three blows on the shoulder with his 
stick, saying, " You rogue, what are you doing 
among so many honest, innocent men? Get you 
out of their company." The poor fellow was 
then set at liberty, while the rest were left to tug 
at the oar. 



206 the Most ancient of ma usoleums. 



THE MOST ANCIENT OF MAUSOLEUMS. 

It would be difficult, I think, even impossible, 
my friends, to find in all ancient history a firmer 
instance of conjugal affection than that which I 
am going to relate. Mausoleus, King of Caria, in 
Asia Minor, dying after a reign of twenty-four 
years, left the throne to Queen Artemisa, his 
wife. That princess employed all her power and 
riches only in signalizing the affection she had 
had for her husband. Wishing to immortalize 
her grief, she raised, in honor of her dear Mauso- 
leus, a monument so magnificent, so splendid, so 
richly decorated, that it passed for one of the 
seven wonders of the world ; hence it was that the 
name of mausoleums was subsequently given to 
all remarkable monuments erected to the mem- 
ory of the dead. That nothing might be wanted 
to the glory of her husband, that princess, the 
true model of wives and widows, founded a prize 
in favor of the orator who should best succeed in 
pronouncing the eulogy of the deceased monarch. 
It was Theopompo, of the Island of Chio, in 
Greece, who first obtained it. If Aulu-Gella and 
several other writers of antiquity are to be be- 
lieved, Artemisa did not even content herself with 
these public proofs of her conjugal affection. She 
went so far as to gather carefully the ashes of 
Mausoleus and have his bones pulverized, and, 



WONDERS OF GOD IN THE MORAL ORDER. 207 

every day, she put a little of that powder into her 
drink, desirous of making her own body, so to say, 
the living tomb of her husband. She survived him 
but two years, and her love ended only with her 
life. She died in 351 before Christ. — Filassier, 
Diet. Hist. WEduc, L, 233. 



WONDERS OF GOD IN THE MORAL 
ORDER. 

The wondrous works of God are spread 
throughout the whole creation : wherever we turn, 
the exhibitions of His power and the monuments 
of His wisdom are scattered before us in bound- 
less profusion ; in the fathomless depths of the 
abyss ; in the untrodden paths of the air ; in the 
vaulted heaven above ; in the splendor of day ; 
in the shrouded glories of the night ; in the mean- 
est insect that creeps the earth, as well as in the 
most finished form of animal existence : from the 
plant that shrinks instinctively from human 
touch, up through the whole ascending scale of 
life and intellect to the almost measureless mind 
of the archangel, there rises in everlasting succes- 
sion, the unceasing acknowledgment of His power, 
His wisdom, and His glory. 

It is not in the visible creation alone that the 



208 WONDERS OF GOD IN THE MORAL ORDER. 

wonders of the Lord are seen. They are marked 
more impressively in the economy and govern- 
ment of the moral world ; in the laws by which the 
spirits of men are directed to the final end of their 
being — in the love that originated their creation — 
in the wisdom that planned their redemption — 
in the multiplied expedients resorted to by that 
wisdom for the purpose of deriving general good 
from partial evil ; in the establishment of a spirit- 
ual kingdom upon earth — in its unbroken dura- 
tion — in its universal extent — in its unfailing 
triumi)h over every opposition, which the corrup- 
tion of earth and the malice of hell can possibly 
offer. It is in the upholding of this kingdom that 
the Lord is truly wonderful, demonstrating His 
own strength through the instrumentalities of the 
weak, proving by His wisdom by the lips of the un- 
wise, revealing His own essential sanctity in puri- 
fying the corrupt affections of His creatures, bend- 
ing the stubborn will, prostrating the ignorant 
pride of the mind, enlightening, purifying, and 
exalting human nature, until every appetite is 
controlled, every lawless passion subdued, every 
defilement cleansed, every earthly particle that 
clings to us so long, and parts with such reluc- 
tance is swept away ; and the mind becomes a 
glorious heaven within, bright with the presence 
and the power of the Lord, and man stands forth 
as in the day of his elder glory, upright, un- 
tioubied, pure, and almost passionless ; the hal- 



WONDERS OF GOD IN THE MORAL ORDER. 209 

lowed image of that most high and holy God, from 
whose hands he originally came. 

Yes, "God is wonderful in His saints." In 
these He has shown the power and the extent of 
His grace. His spirit has gone forth, and the 
might of God is seen in the countless forms of 
holiness, with which His spiritual kingdom 
abounds, In some, that spirit dwells from their 
earliest youth, and, by an all-directing Providence, 
they pass through this world, without contract- 
ing one stain of mortal guilt, and scarcely exhibit- 
ing a trace of human infirmity. Others are des- 
tined to feel, through life, the whole weakness 
and corruption of nature, and to pass through the 
fiery ordeal of every temptation that can subdue 
the mind or seduce the heart. Some possess what 
the prophet desired, ''the wings of the dove,'"' and 
they fly to the presence of Him, " whose delight 
is to be with the children of men.'* To the eye 
of man they walk upon earth, but their convers- 
ation is in heaven, and they breathe and live 
before the throne of their God. Some are called 
to witness the truth of religion, to the very out- 
pouring of their blood ; and others are fated to 
undergo the more painful and protracted martyr 
dom of " dwelling in the tents of sinners," of wit- 
nessing their contradictions, and bearing the sneers 
and the sarcasm of the proud, the profligate, and 
the worldly minded. Some are called to sanctify 
themselves in the performance of the ordinary 



210 WONDERS OF GOB W TEE MORAL ORDER. 

duties of life, passing through this world without 
notice and without name, though great before 
their God ; whilst others are destined not to live 
for themselves alone, "separated for the gospel 
of God/' "made a spectacle to men and angelc," 
called to co-operate with God in the work of man's 
salvation ; fated to bear their own burdens, and 
commanded to bear the burden of others; the 
"salt of the earth," to save it from corruption; 
the "lights of the world," to illuminate its dark- 
ness ; tongues of lire, kindled by the inspiring 
breath of God, and destined to reanimate, 
throughout the long succession of ages, the expir- 
ing embers of Christian faith and charity. Of 
these latter, some are chosen from " the weak of 
this world, to beat down the strong, and from the 
foolish, to confound the wise," that no flesh may 
glory, and no tongue ascribe to man what the hand 
of the Lord alone could perform. Others are se- 
lected from the most exalted rank of human in- 
tellect, that no ground of objection should be left 
to human pride ; and that the loftiest understand- 
ing should be edified by the faith and the rational 
submission of minds fitted to investigate, and dis- 
posed to reject, if investigation did not lead to 
the most satisfactory and convincing results. 
Such minds have been selected in every age, and 
in every portion of the Church, and exhibited to 
this world, as the necessity of that Church, and 
the edification of her children required. 

—Rev. T OKeeffe. 



FORGIVENESS OF INJURIES. 211 



FORGIVENESS OF INJURIES. 

It is not by mere submission and constrained 
obedience, that the Almighty requires us to keep 
His command of forgiving our enemies; He would 
influence us to pardon the offences of our fellow- 
creatures by motives of gratitude, and our God 
interests Himself in their behalf as our benefactor 
and father, rather than as our lawgiver and sov- 
ereign. Had He enjoined us to love and forgive 
our enemies for their own sake, the command 
might appear hard and rigorous; for when we 
consider the character of an enemy abstractedly, 
we find nothing that is not offensive, that does 
not tend to irritate our minds and fill them with 
rancor. How then does our God act? He pre- 
sents Himself before us, and withdrawing our 
eyes from a painful object commands us to fix 
them on Himself. He does not require us to 
pardon for the sake of the offender, but for His 
own sake. He does not say to you, forgive your 
enemies because they deserve your forgiveness ; 
but He says, forgive them because I deserve your 
compliance with my will. It is not His precept 
that you should consider what is owing to your 
enemies, but rather, what is due to Himself and 
what He has done for them. Thus the children 
of Jacob moved the heart of Joseph their brother, 
whom they had basely sold: thus tney obtained 



; 212 FORGIVENESS OF INJURIES 

his pardon of a crime almost unpardonable, and 
which was prompted by their envy. ' ' Thy father 
■ did command before he died, saying, so shall ye 
say unto Joseph, forgive, I pray thee now, the 
trespass of thy brethren, and their sin; for they 
did un to thee evil. ' J At the remembrance of Jacob, 
of that beloved, that tender, that affectionate 
father, Joseph felt his bowels yearn; his tears 
flowed, and instead of reproaching his sanguinary 
brethren with their inhumanity, or uttering an 
; angry word, he endeavored to console them: 
fear not: he became their apologist: ' 4 Ye thought 
-evil against me; but God meant it unto good:" 
he promised them and their families his protec- 
tion and support: "I will nourish you, and your 
.little ones." 

Christians! It is not in the name of an earthly 
father, nor of a man like yourselves; it is in the 
name of your heavenly Father, in the name of 
your Creator and Redeemer, that I address you, 
How often, when meditating on His goodness, 
have you, like David, with renewed zeal and 
piety, exclaimed, "What shall I render unto the 
Lord for all His benefits towards me?" How 
many times have you ardently wished for an op- 
portunity of giving infallible marks of your love! 
That opportunity is afforded you, as soon as 
you pardon offences for the sake of your God. 
To a mind that retains any susceptibility of relig- 
ious impressions, I can imagine nothing more 



FORGIVENESS OF INJURIES. 213 

influential, nor more consolatory than this argu- 
ment. The greatest consolation I can possess on 
earth is to believe, with all the certainty at- 
tainable in this life, that I love God; that I love 
Him with a genuine, not a seeming and doubtful 
love; for as far as I am conscious of loving God, 
so far am I convinced that I possess His love, and 
am the object of His grace. Of all the evidences 
which I can desire on this subject, no one is less 
equivocal than the forgiveness of an enemy, be- 
cause nothing but the love of God, the most entire 
love, can induce me to grant that forgiveness. 
Nature will not furnish me with riiotives to a virtue 
which it directly opposes, nor will the world pro- 
duce in me that disposition which is repugnant to 
all its maxims. How animating, how delightful, is 
that consciousness which enables us to say: I know 
that I love my God, that I love Him with sincerity: 
I perform for the sake of my God, that which I 
can do for His sake alone; therefore I am convinced 
that my motive is pure. With what joy is such 
a reflection accompanied! 

But here lies the evil: without considering 
God in our fellow-creature, we regard our 
fellow-creature alone, hence those tedious and 
vain declamations on the unworthy treatment we 
have received, on the audacity of one, on the 
perfidy of another, on numberless circumstances, 
which we frequently misrepresent, exaggerate, 
and portray, in the darkest colors. Allowing 



214 A HYMN TO THE QUEEN OF MAY. 

however, my brethren, that your opinions and 
representations are just, can you not comprehend 
that this will by no means weaken our argument? 
When we exhort you to forgive we do not pro- 
fess to exculpate the transgressor; for if he were 
innocent, you would have no occasion to pardon 
him. What do we then required That you 
should rise above the creature; that you should 
give to God what you would refuse to man; that 
you should know that your God will consider 
Himself honored and glorified by the forgiveness 
of your enemy. The moment this important, 
this fundamental truth, is impressed on your 
minds, what efforts will appear too arduous, what 
will have power to impede your progress? 

— Bourdaloue. 



A HYMN TO THE QUEEN OF MAY. 

Had I the mind of the poet king, 

And the voice of St. Dunstan's lyre,* 
I could not write — I could not sing, 

As my heart and my soul desire; 
No human pow'r can frame the sound, 

No earthly choir can chime th' lay 
Worthy of thee — forever crown' d — 

Our lov'd and loving Queen of May. 



♦An angel played one day on the harp of St. Dunetan. 



A HYMN TO THE QUEEN OF MAT. 215 

The hermit in his rocky cell, 

The virgin from her still retreat, 
The woodman in his piny dell — 

Ay, thousands in the noisy street: 
The poor and rich, the wise and great, 

Where'er our Pontiff holds his sway, 
To thee their hearts now elevate, 

lov' d and loving Queen of May. 

Within the winding catacomb, 

When burning Christians lie the night, * 
What song was heard 'neath Pagan Rome, 

So pure, so pleasing in God's sight ? 
What song rolls down St. Peter' s aisles ? 

What music does its organs play? 
What song can win dear Jesu's smiles? 

Thy hymn, O loving Queen of May ! 

Let maidens bring thee wreaths of snow, 

Let youthful bards sing sweet of thee, 
Let all Life's vet'rans to thee go, 

And bend their hearts when bends their 
knee, 
But, like St. John, O ! let me love 

Thee as my Mother and my stay; 
And grant, O grant, I'll see above, 

My lov'd, my loving Queen of May ! 

—Treacy. 



* Nero caused mauy of the early Christians to be braced in tunics steeped in 
pitch, and then placed at certain distances, then set on fire to light the streets 
at night. 



216 WONDERS OF THE CHISEL. 



WONDERS OF THE CHISEL AT THE CHURCH 
OP ST, SEYERO AT NAPLES. 

In the church of St. Severo, at Naples, there 
are some statues of very extraordinary work- 
manship. One represents a female covered with 
a veil, which is most happily executed in marble, 
and has all the effect of a transparency. There 
is another of the Dead Christ, covered with the 
same thin gauze veil, which appears as if it were 
moist with the cold damp of death. 

Both of these pieces were the work of a Vene- 
tian of the name of Corradine. There is also a 
statue of a figure in a net, the celebrated work of 
Queirato, a Genoese, which is a model of pains 
and patience. It is cut out of a single block, yet 
the net has many folds, and scarcely touches the 
statue. 



SENDING RELIEF TO IRELAND, 1847. 

We have assembled, not to respond to shouts 
of triumph from the West, but to answer the 
cry of want and suffering which comes from the 
East. The Old World stretches out her arms to 
the New. The starving parent supplicates the 
young and vigorous child for bread. There lies, 



PHILLIPS'S ACCOUNT OF CURB AN. 211 

upon the other side of the wide Atlantic, a beau- 
tiful island, famous in story and song. Its area 
is not so great as that of the State of Louisiana, 
while its population is almost half that of the 
Union. It has given to the world more than its 
share of genius and of greatness. It has been 
prolific in statesmen, warriors, and poets. Its 
brave and generous sons have fought successfully 
all battles but their own. In wit and humor it 
has no equal, while its harp, like its history, 
moves to tears, by its sweet but melancholy 
pathos. Into this fair region God has seen fit to 
send the most terrible of all those fearful minis- 
ters who fulfil His inscrutable decrees. The earth 
has failed to give her increase ; the common 
mother has forgotten her offspring, and her 
breast no longer affords them their accustomed 
nourishment. Famine, gaunt and ghastly famine, 
has seized a nation in its strangling grasp ; and 
unhappy Ireland, in the sad woes of the present, 
forgets, for a moment, the gloomy history of the 
past. — 8. 8. Prentiss. 



PHILLIPS'S ACCOUNT OF CURRAN. 

I caught the first glimpse of the little man 
through the vista of his garden. There he was — 
on a third time afterward, I saw him in a dress 



218 PHILLIPS'S ACCOUNT OF CJJRRAN. 

which you would imagine he had borrowed from 
his tipstaff — his hands od his sides ; his under lip 
protruded ; his face almost parallel with the hori- 
zon ; and the important step and eternal attitude 
only varied by the pause during which his eye 
glanced from his guest to his watch, and from his 
watch reproachfully to his dining-room : it was 
an invariable peculiarity — one second after four 
o'clock, and he would not wait for the viceroy. 
The moment he perceived me, he took me by the 
hand, said he would not have any one introduce 
me ; and with a manner I often thought was 
charmed, he at once banished every apprehension, 
and completely familiarized me at the priory. I 
had often seen Curran — often heard him — often 
read him ; but no man ever knew anything about 
him who did not see him at his own table, with 
the few whom he selected. He was a little con- 
vivial deity ; he soared in every region, and was 
at home in all ; he touched everything, and 
seemed as if he had created it ; he mastered the 
human heart with the same ease that he did his 
violin. You wept, and you laughed, and you won- 
dered ; and the wonderful creature, who made you 
do all at will, never let it appear that he was more 
than your equal, and was quite willing, if you 
chose, to become your auditor. It is said of Swift 
that his rule was to allow a minute's pause after 
he had concluded, and then, if no person took 
up the conversation, to recommence himself. 



SIR THOMAS MORE. 219 

Curran had no conversational rule whatever : he 
spoke from impulse, and he had the art so to draw 
you into a participation, that, though you felt an 
inferiority, it was quite a contented one. Indeed, 
nothing could excel the urbanity of his demeanor. 
At the time, I speak of, he was turned of sixty 
yet he was as playful as a child. The extremes 
of youth and age were met in him ; he had the ex- 
perience of one, and the simplicity of the other. 



SIR, THOMAS MORE. 

The singularity of Sir Thomas More was not 
only conspicuous in his writings, but in his con- 
versation, his professional exertions, and even in 
his devotion. He was in a very peculiar manner 
the object of the caprice of a monarch, who was, 
perhaps, the strangest compound of luxury, hy- 
pocrisy, cruelty, credulity, and superstition, thafr 
ever was stamped with the image of man, or blaz- 
oned with the title of sovereign. In the year 
1520, Sir Thomas settled with his family at Chel- 
sea, having purchased an estate there. He had 
resided in Chancery Lane, in a house standing 
in 1822. At Chelsea, it is said, Henry VIII. 
would sometimes, uninvited, dine with the man, 
whom he afterwards, upon the most frivolous 



220 ENTRY OF CONSTANTWE INTO ROME. 

pretence, consigned to the block. The account 
which Erasmus gives of the manner of Sir 
Thomas More's living at Chelsea exhibits a pic- 
ture of domestic happiness. " His house," he 
says, "was situated near the water side, neither 
so mean as to be entitled to contempt, nor so mag- 
nificent as to become the subject of envy. There 
he converseth with his wife, his son, his daugh- 
ter-in-law, his three daughters and their three 
husbands, with eleven grandchildren. There is 
not any man living so affectionate to his children 
as he ; and he loveth his old wife as well as if she 
was a young maid." 



TRIUMPHAL ENTRY OF CONSTANTINE 
INTO ROME. 

"No day, since its foundation," says an eye- 
witness of the scene, "had ever diffused through 
Rome a joy so well founded and overflowing ; 
nothing in the immense series of our annals is to 
be compared to the exultation of that triumph. 
True, no captive princes and generals were driven 
with mockeries, and in fetters, before the con- 
queror's car; but instead of these there went the 
Roman senators who had been liberated from 
prison. No prisoners of war were ordered to the 



ENTBY OF CONSTANTINE INTO ROME. 221 

Mamertine for execution ; but men who had filled 
the consulship were drawn forth to the enjoy- 
ment of liberty from where they lay in its dun- 
geons, condemned to death. Instead of foreign 
captives, the senate and the Roman people, re- 
stored to liberty, adorned the procession, and in- 
stead of being enriched with spoils, the city itself 
gained deliverance from spoliation. The atro- 
cious crimes that had so long trampled on the 
honors, and rioted in every excess at the expense 
of the citizens were as if dragged like captives at 
the chariot wheels of him who triumphed." 

The destruction of the Milvian bridge had 
obliged Constantine to encamp on the Vatican 
fields beyond the Tiber, instead of entering Rome 
by theFlaminian way, the night of the battle ; and 
thus the Roman emperor and his legions were 
compelled, as if by some invisible, all-ruling 
power, to carry the standard of the cross into the 
metropolis of paganism by that track, and no 
other, which had been marked out, from time 
immemorial, by the senate and the people, as 
the only legitimate way of triumphs. Having of- 
fered up vows at the tomb of St. Peter, instead 
of sacrificing to the idols, according to custom, 
the martial procession began to move across the 
Tiber into the plain of the Campus Martius. 

This tract of level ground, expanding like an 
arena from the Capitoline, the Quirinal, and Pin- 
cian hills, to the Tiber, was adorned in its entire 



222 ENTR 7 OF GONSTANTINE INTO ROME. 

extent with theatres, hippodromes, places for 
various warlike spectacles and games, with tem- 
ples surrounded with groves of evergreens, and 
interwoven, one with the other, by shady walks 
and velvet lawns ; while monuments and trophies, 
of snowy whiteness, and of every order, lined the 
river-side to the water's edge. The whole was 
populous with statues, inscribed to the most re- 
nowned characters in the Roman annals, and pre- 
sented a scene so fascinating, " that it was almost 
impossible to tear one's eyes from beholding it." 
But, towering above all, like an Alp of Marble, 
rose the mausoleum, or tomb of Augustus Caesar, 
where the urns of the Julian family, and of many 
emperors, were placed. When any of them was to 
be deified, or added to the number of the gods, his 
body was carried with great pomp and ceremony 
upon a couch of gold, and placed on a pile of odor- 
iferous wood upon its summit , and as the flame 
began to ascefid towards the corse, an eagle, fas- 
tened there for the purpose, was permitted to 
take wing, that it might be regarded by the ap- 
plauding millions as the genius, or "mens di- 
vinior," of the emperor soaring aloft to the 
skies. 

Each terrace, and balcony, and rich veranda of 
this mighty pile, and of every other tomb, colon- 
nade, and monument, along the line of procession, 
or within view of it, seemed to swarm with human 
beings, as the glorious sun poured his orient splen* 



ENTRY OF C0N8TANT1NE INTO ROME. 223 

dors over the temples and towers of the capitol, 
across the adjacent plain. All Rome, from the 
plebeian to the consular patrician, and of every 
age and sex, went forth in gala costume, and with 
hilarity of look, and voice, and feature, that radi- 
ated from the heart. Every eye had now been 
turned for some minutes to the gate of triumph, 
and every voice was hushed; but when the bronze 
portals flew open with a sound the instant they 
were struck by the first beams of morning, and 
gave ingress to the legions bearing that sign of 
conquest that Rome had never beheld till now, 
the plaudits and acclamations that shook the 
Campus Martius, and reverberated from the hills 
beyond the Tiber, back again, were taken up and 
prolonged, " like the sound of many waters," by 
the millions crowded on every vantage ground, 
and roof, and along the entire extent of the tri- 
umphal way itself. 

"After Constantine, who, in that juncture," 
says Eusebius, " acted like Moses, that great 
servant of God, had offered up his vows and 
hymns of praise to the Author of victory, he 
made his entry in triumph into the imperial city. 
Whereupon all persons, as well those of the sen- 
atorial as of the equestrian order, feeling as 
'twere suddenly liberated from prison, they, 
together with the entire population of Rome, re- 
ceived him with a joy in their countenances that 
proceeded from their very souls, with acclama- 



224 ENTRY OF C0N8TANTINE INTO HOME. 

tions, and a gladness insatiable ; and the men, 
together with the women, the children and in- 
finite numbers of slaves, hailed him as a redeemer, 
a benefactor, and a deliverer, with voices that 
conld not be silenced. But both by proclama- 
tions, and by signs, he intimated that these out- 
pourings were due, not to him, but to that stand- 
dard of salvation by which he had conquered." 
The same symbol sanctified the arms of his sol- 
diers : the cross glittered on their helmets, was 
engraved on their shields, and interwoven into 
their banners ; and on the helmet and armor of 
the emperor they were composed of diamonds and 
precious Itones, so that they sparkled and shone 
in the sun's rays with an enchanting brilliancy. 

Passing the field of Mars, where the temples 
were thickest, the procession of the Labarum 
moved along through the portico of Octavia, built 
by Pompey, into the Campus Flaminius ; and on 
by where the triumphal gate stood in ancient 
times, between the Tarpeian cliff and the Tiber ; 
thence by the theatre of Marcellus, through the 
portico of Octavia, sister of Augustus, the Vela- 
*brum, and the Forum Boarium, into the Circus 
Maximus. There the spectators, to the number 
of several hundreds of thousands, were ranged on 
the couches and marble benches of this Elysium 
of the Romans, occupying, as it did, the entire 
valley, from one end to the other, between the 
Palatine hill and the Aventine. Then wheeling 



ENTRY OF C0NSTANT1NE INTO HOME. 225 

to the left, the procession moved along between 
the Palatine and the Coelian, towards the Coli- 
seum, in the vicinity of which, at a place called 
the " Ve teres Curiae," it passed under a temporary 
arch of triumph, built afterwards of marble. It 
was inscribed to the Liberator of the City, to the 
founder of tranquillity, and stated that all this 
he had effected "through the inspiration of the 
Divinity." Wheeling again to the left, along the 
"sacred way," before descending between the 
palace and the temple of Peace to the Roman 
forum, the triumph, midst ever-increasing throngs 
and acclamations, passed under the arch of Titus, 
of which the relievi, representing the sacred em- 
blems and furniture of the Jewish temple, among 
the other spoils of conquest, bore perpetual testi- 
mony to the accomplishment of our Lord's denun- 
ciation against Jerusalem. 

But that which, above all, distinguished this 
triumph, was its termination ; for it ended not, 
as heretofore, in the murder of noble captives, 
and idolatrous sacrifices to Jupiter, but in the 
planting upon the capitol of that cross hitherto re- 
garded with such bitter execration, and so long 
and cruelly persecuted by Rome. " And with a 
loud voice, and by inscriptions," says Eusebius, 
"Constantine made known to all men the stand- 
ard of salvation, by erecting this great trophy in 
the midst of the imperial city, with a Latin in- 
scription to the following effect: — 'By this salu- 



226 THE FACE OF CHRIST. 

tary sign, the genuine type of fortitude, I haze 
liberated and freed your city from the slavish 
yoke of the tyrant, and have set at liberty the 
senate and people of Rome, restoring them to 
their pristine splendor and dignity \\ " 

—Dr. Miley. 



THE FACE OF CHRIST. 

One of the celebrated Italian artists was em- 
ployed in painting the Last Snpper of onr Lord. 
One by one he studied the characters of the apos- 
tles, and then settled in his own mind, and paint- 
ed on canvas, a form and countenance in which 
any beholder might see character expressed. 

He then applied himself to the character of our 
Saviour. He studied the attributes of His mind 
and heart. He sought all the stores of his own 
inventive fancy for a combination of features and 
complexion which should express these attri- 
butes — the conscious power, the wisdom, the holi- 
ness, the love, the mercy, the meekness, the pa- 
tience, the whole character of the divine Re- 
deemer. He sought long, intensely, but in vain. 
Every countenance he could imagine fell evidently 
far below ; and at last he threw down his pencil 
in despair, declaring that " the face of Christ 
could not be painted." 



PARTRIDGE, THE WEATHER PROPHET. 227 



PARTRIDGE, THE WEATHER PROPHET. 

An English, paper tells a pleasant anecdote of 
Partridge, the celebrated almanac-maker, about 
one hundred years since. In travelling on horse- 
back into the country, he stopped for his dinner 
at an inn, and afterwards called for his horse, 
that he might reach the next town, where he in- 
tended to sleep. 

"If you will take my advice, sir," said the 
hostler, as he was about to mount his horse, "you 
will stay where you are for the night, as you will 
surely be overtaken by pelting rain." 

"Nonsense, nonsense," exclaimed the alman- 
ac-maker ; " there is sixpence for you, my honest 
fellow, and good-afternoon to you." 

He proceeded on his journey, and sure enough 
he was well drenched in a heavy shower. Part- 
ridge was struck by the man's prediction, and be- 
ing always intent on the interest of his almanac, 
he rode back on the instant, and was received bv 
the hostler with a broad grin. 

" Well, sir, you see I was right, after all." 

"Yes, my lad, you have been so, and here is a 
crown for you ; but I give it to you on condition 
that you tell me how yon knew of this rain." 

"To be sure, sir," replied the man ; "why, the 
truth is, we have an almanac at our house called 
'Partridge's Almanac,' and the fellow is such a 



228 MONKS OF ST. BERNABD. 

notorious liar, that whenever he promises us a fine 
day, we always know that it will be the direct 
contrary. Now, your honor, this day, the 21st 
of June, is put down in our almanac in-doors as 
settled fine weather; no rain. I looked at that be- 
fore I brought your honor's horse out, and so was 
enabled to put you on your guard." 



MONKS OF ST. BERNARD. 

The convent of the great St. Bernard is situated 
near the top of the mountain known by that 
name, near one of the most dangerous passages 
of the Alps between Switzerland and Savoy. In 
these regions, the traveller is often overtaken by 
the most severe weather, even after days of 
cloudless beauty, when the glaciers glitter in the 
sunshine, and the pink flowers of the rhododen- 
dron appear as if they were never sullied by the 
tempest. But a storm suddenly comes on ; the 
roads are rendered impassable by drifts of snow ; 
the avalanches, which are huge loosened masses of 
snow or ice, are swept into the valleys, carrying 
trees and crags of rocks before them. The hos- 
pitable monks, though their revenue is scanty, 
open their doors to every stranger that presents 
himself. To be cold, to be weary, to be benighted, 



MONKS OF ST. BERNARD. 229' 

constitutes the title to their comfortable shelter, 
their cheering meal, and their agreeable converse. 
But their attention to the distressed does not 
end here. They devote themselves to the danger- 
ous task of searching for those unhappy persons 
who may have been overtaken by the sudden 
storm, and would perish but for their charitable 
succor, Most remarkably are they assisted in 
those truly Christian offices. They have a breed 
of noble dogs in their establishment, whose ex- 
traordinary sagacity often enables them to rescue 
the traveller from destruction. Benumbed with 
cold, weary in the search for a lost track, his 
senses yielding to the stupefying influences of frost, 
the unhappy man sinks upon the ground, and 
the snow-drift covers him from human sight. It 
is then that the keen scent and the exquisite 
docility of these admirable dogs are called into 
action. Though the perishing men lie ten or even 
twenty feet beneath the snow, the delicacy of 
smell with which they can trace him, offers a 
chance of escape. They scratch away the snow 
with their feet : they set up a continued hoarse 
and solemn bark, which brings the monks and 
laborers of the convent to their assistance. To 
provide for the chance that the dogs, without 
human help, may succeed in discovering the un- 
fortunate traveller, one of them has a flask of 
spirits round his neck, to which the fainting man 
may apply for support, and another has a cloak 



230 MONKS OF ST. BERNARD. 

to cover him. These wonderful exertions are often 
successful ; and even where they fail of restoring 
him who has perished, the dogs discover the 
body, so that it may be secured for the recogni- 
tion of friends ; and such is the effect of the cold, 
that the dead features generally preserve their 
firmness for the space of two years. 

One of those noble creatures was decorated 
with a medal, in commemoration of his having 
saved the lives of twenty-two persons, who, but 
for his sagacity, must have perished. Many 
travellers, who have crossed the passage of St. 
Bernard, have seen this dog, and have heard, 
around the blazing fire of the monks, the story 
of his extraordinary career. He died about the 
year 1816, in an attempt to convey a poor traveller 
to his anxious family. The Piedmontese courier 
arrived at S t. Bernard in a very stormy season, 
laboring to make his way to the little village of 
St. Pierre, in the valley beneath the mountain, 
where his wife and children dwelt. It was in 
vain that the monks attempted to check his 
resolution to reach his family. They at last gave 
him two guides, each of whom was accompanied 
by a dog, of which one was the remarkable crea- 
ture whose services had been so valuable to man- 
kind. Descending from the convent, they were 
in an instant overwhelmed by an avalanche ; and 
the same common destruction awaited the family 
of the poor courier, who were toiling up the moun- 



SUNDAY. 231 

tain, in the hope of obtaining some news of their 
expected friend. They all perished. 

— The Menageries. 



SUNDAY. 



The sanctification of the Lord's day is one of 
those commandments, which the Lord Himself has 
given to man. Unquestionably no divine com- 
mand needs an apology ; still, we cannot but 
see the beauty and propriety of this, which 
specially consecrates one day to the noblest and 
most important of our duties ; which recalls a man 
to his Creator. The poor man, worn down by fa- 
tigue, bent to the earth, and uncertain whether it 
will yield him a miserable sustenance ; forced to 
measure by his labor the day, which is not long 
enough for him : the rich man, anxious, for the 
most part, to spend it so as to get through it quick- 
est ; surrounded by those things in which the 
world affirms that happiness consists, and yet 
every moment filled with wonder at not find- 
ing himself happy ; undeceived by the very 
objects from which he expected complete satis- 
faction, and longing after other objects, which, 
when attained, will in like manner undeceive him; 
the man overwhelmed by misfortune, and the man 
intoxicated by prosperity ; the man wallowing in 



232 SUNDAY. 

pleasures, and the man absorbed in the abstrac- 
tions of science , the statesman ; the private in- 
dividual ; in fact, all of us find in every object 
that surrounds us, an obstacle in our approach to 
the Divinity, a power which, tends to attach us to 
those things for which we were not created, and 
to make us forget our noble origin, and the im- 
portant end for which we were sent into the 
world. 

Here, then, appears manifest the divine wisdom 
of that precept which takes us off from mortal 
cares, to call us back to the contemplation of 
celestial things ; which employs so many of even 
the unlearned man's days in a school of the 
sublimes t philosophy , which sanctifies the repose 
of the body, rendering it the type of that repose of 
eternal enjoyment, for which we all pant, and 
which our soul feels itself capable of enjoying ; 
of that precept which unites us in one temple, 
where our common prayers, reminding us of our 
common wants and miseries, make us feel that we 
are brethren. The Church, the constant guar- 
dian of this precept, dictates to her children the 
mode of following it in the most perfect and con- 
sistent manner. And among the means she selects, 
was it possible for her to forget that rite, of all 
others the most necessary ; constituting the very 
essence of Christian worship, for it is no other 
than the sacrifice of Jesus Christ Himself ; that 
sacrifice on which rests all faith, all knowledge, 



EULOGIUM ON COMMUNION. 233 

all rule, all hope ! Can the Christian who volun- 
tarily abstains from such a sacrifice on such a 
day, be the "just man who lives by faith?" 
(Rom. i, 17, &c ) Is it possible for him to dis- 
play in a more barefaced manner how little he 
cares for the divine precept of sanctification? Is 
it not evident that he has an aversion to Chris- 
tianity in his heart ; and that he has renounced 
the greatest, the most sacred, and the most con- 
soling object that faith presents ; that he has re- 
nounced Jesus Christ? To pretend that the 
Church should not denounce as a transgressor, the 
man who cherished such dispositions, were to 
desire her to forget that end for which she was in- 
stituted, and to allow us to fall back into the 
deadly air of heathenism. — Manzoni. 



EULOGIUM ON COMMUNION BY FRED- 
ERICK THE GREAT. 

Aftee the Seven Years' War, General Ziethen 
became one of Frederick's most frequent guests; 
he even occupied the place of honor, unless there 
were princes at table with the king. One day, 
when he had received one of these frequent invita- 
tions to dine with the king, he prayed Frederick to 
excuse him: ' ' Tell his Majesty that this is a day 



234 EULOQIUM ON COMMUNION. 

on which I am accustomed to go to Communion, 
and I do not wish to put myself in the way of any 
distraction. ' ' Some days after, when he appeared 
again at Sans Souci Castle, the king said to him: 
u Well! Ziethen, how did your Communion go off 
the other day V At these words all the courtiers 
burst out laughing. But Ziethen suddenly rose, 
shaking his head, approached Frederick and, 
bowing before him, said gravely and firmly: 
' ' Your Majesty ought to know that I have dreaded 
no danger, and that I have fought courageously 
for you and the country. What I have done I am 
ready to do again, when your Majesty com- 
mands me. But there is One above us mightier 
than you, than I, than all mankind; that is 
Our Lord Jesus Christ, who shed His blood to re- 
deem the world. I will never allow any one to 
insult Him, in my presence, even in jest, for in 
Him is my faith, my hope, my consolation. It is 
with this religious sentiment that your army has 
gained so many victories; if, then, you wish to re- 
nounce it, renounce also the prosperity of the 
State. There is what 1 have to say; pray excuse 
me!" The king, much affected, held out his 
right hand to the religious general, and, laying 
his left hand on his shoulder : "Happy Ziethen," 
said he, " I respect your religion. Preserve it 
carefully, and be sure that what has now taken 
place never shall again in my presence "—Maga- 
zin Pittoresque, 1844, 207. 



FILIAL PIETY 235 



FILIAL PIETY. 

The great law of nature has implanted in every 
human breast, a disposition to love and revere 
those to whom we have been taught from our earli- 
est infancy to look up for every comfort, conven- 
ience, and pleasure in life. While we remain in 
a state of dependence on them, this impression 
continues in its full force ; but ceitain it is, that 
it has a tendency to wear off, as we become masters 
of ourselves ; and hence the propriety of those 
laws by which, in the institution of different na- 
tions, it has been attempted to guard against a 
degeneracy into filial ingratitude and disobedience. 

" Honor thy father and thy mother," was the 
command of the divine Author of the Jewish dis- 
pensation. "That thy days may be long in the 
land," is the peculiar reward which He promises 
to those who obey the solemn injunction. And as 
He has been pleased to express His approbation of 
a steady adherence to this law, by singular marks 
of favor, so also did He punish the breach of it, by 
exemplary displeasure ; death was the only ex- 
piation for this offence. Nor have the Jews been 
the only nation who have looked upon disobe- 
dience to parents as worthy of capital punishment. 

In China, let a son become ever so rich, and a 
father ever so poor, there is no submission, no 
point of obedience, that the latter cannot com- 



236 FILIAL PIETY. 

mand, or that the former can refuse. The father 
is not only absolute master of his son's estate, but 
also of his children ; whom, whenever they dis- 
please him, he may sell to strangers When a 
father accuses his son before a mandarin, there 
needs no proof of his guilt ; for they cannot be- 
lieve that any father can be so unnatural as to 
bring a false accusation against his own son. 

But, should a son be so insolent as to mock his 
father, or arrive at such a pitch of wickedness as 
to strike him, all the province, where this shame- 
ful act of violence is committed, is alarmed ; it 
even becomes the concern of the whole empire ; 
the emperor himself judges the criminal. All the 
mandarins near the place, are turned out of their 
posts, especially those in the town wheie he lived, 
for having been so negligent in their instructions ; 
and all the neighbors are reprimanded, for neg- 
lecting, by former punishments, to put a stop to 
the wickedness of the criminal, before it arrived 
at such flagitiousness., 

With respect to the unhappy wretch himself, 
they cut him into a thousand pieces, burn his 
bones, raze the house in which he lived, as well 
as those houses that stand near it, and sow the 
ground with salt, as supposing that there must 
be some hopeless depravity of manners in a com- 
munity to which such a monster belonged. 

The filial duty is the same with the prince and 
the peasant in China ; and the emperor, every 



FILIAL PIETY. 237 

New Year's day, pays a particular homage to his 
mother, in the palace ; at which ceremony, all the 
great officers of the state assist. 

The Persians, according to Herodotus, held the 
crime of domestic rebellion in nearly as much 
detestation as the Chinese, but they treated it 
after a more refined manner. They looked on the 
striking, or slaying of a father, as an impossible 
offence ; and, when an accident of the kind hap- 
pened, adjudged that the offender could not be the 
son of the party injured, or slain, but must have 
been surreptitiously imposed on him as such. 

Cicero observes, that Solon, the wise legislator 
of Athens, had provided no law against parri- 
cide ; and that, being asked why he had not, he 
answered, "that to make laws against, and ordain 
punishments for, a crime that had been never 
known or heard of, was the way to introduce it, 
rather than prevent it." 

In Rome, no less than six hundred years from 
the building of the city had elapsed, before so 
much as a name for the crime of parricide was 
known amongst them . The punishment ordained 
for the first who stained his hands with the blood 
of the author of his being, was, that he be scourged 
till he was flayed, then sown up in a sack, 
together with a dog, a cock, a viper, and an ape, 
and so thrown headlong to the bottom of the sea. 

It is a great stain on the character of the more 
recent ages of the world, that the crime should 



238 EMPEROR NICHOLAS AND MR. O'CONNELL. 

ever have become of less rare occurrence ; yet in 
nothing, perhaps, have the ways of God to man 
been more signally justified, than in the punish- 
ment which has sooner or later followed all 
deviations from filial love and duty. So pro- 
verbial, indeed, has this become, as to make any 
particular illustrations of the fact wholly un- 
necessary. 



THE EMPEROR NICHOLAS AND MR. 
O'CONNELL. 

A lady of rank being sent to O'Connell for his 
autograph, to go into the collection of handwrit- 
ings of " celebrated persons" to the Emperor of 
Russia, O'Connell begged pardon for seeming 
want of courtesy in refusing a lady, but added, 
as his excuse, — 

" The fact is, that the hideous cruelties of the 
present Emperor of Russia, perpetrated in Po- 
land, even upon women and children, have 
marked his character with a deeper shade of in- 
famy than that which stains the Roman Nero ; 
while his Satanic persecution of Catholic Chris- 
tianity has reduced him beneath the level of the 
ancient Diocletian. Mr. O'Connell, therefore, 
cannot consent, by any act of his, however slight, 
to appear to pay a compliment to so atrocious a 
monster." 



VIENNA SAVED BY THE POLES. 239 



VIENNA SAVED BY THE POLES 

Vienna was invested by 300,000 Turks and 
Tartars, under Kara Mustapha, the vizier; the 
dastardly Leopold had retreated to Lintz, and 
despatched messenger after messenger to hasten 
the departure of Sobieski. Germany looked to 
him as its savior, and Europe as the bulwark of 
Christendom. Having beheld at his feet the am- 
bassadors of the empire, and the nuncio of the 
Pope, he left Cracow, August 15th, with a small 
body of Polish troops, and without waiting for 
the Lithuanians, the chief part of his army, 
amounting in all to about 30,000 men, he had 
previously ordered to rendezvous under the walls 
of Vienna. 

The king found the affairs of the imperialists 
in a worse situation than he had conceived. The 
Turkish artillery had made a practicable breach, 
and the terrified inhabitants of the capital were 
in momentary , expectation of an assault. One 
evening, however, their despair was changed to 
joy, as they perceived from their telescopes the 
appearance of the Polish hussars on the heights 
of Kalemberg. Sobieski was enthusiastically 
invested with the chief command of the Christian 
army, consisting of Poles, Saxons, Bavarians, and 
Austrians, amounting to 70,000 men. One who 
had been his rival as a candidate, the duke of 



240 VIENNA SAVED BY THE POLES. 

Lorraine, gave a noble example of magnanimity, 
by his submission, and by zealously co-operating 
in all his plans. On the morning of September 
12th, commenced the mighty struggle between 
the crescent and the cross. Throughout the day 
the advantage rested with the Christians; but 
the vast masses of the Turks remained unbroken. 
Towards nightfall the Polish king had fought 
his way to the entrenched camp of the vizier, 
whom he perceived seated in a magnificent apart- 
ment, tranquilly drinking coffee with his two 
sons. Provoked at the sight, he rushed forward, 
followed by an intrepid band, with the loud war- 
cry of " God for Poland!" and to his pious re- 
petition of the well-known verse of Israel's 
prophet-king, "Not to us, not to us, O Lord of 
Hosts, but to Thy name give glory!" was united 
that of "Sobieski!" Shouts of "Sobieski! 
Sobieski!" caught the ears of the Moslems, who 
for the first time, now certainly knew that this 
dreaded hero was with the Christians. ' ' Allah!" 
exclaimed the Tartar khan, " the king is with 
them sure enough!" The consternation amongst 
the infidels was extreme; but, true to the bravery 
of their character, they made a vigorous stand. 
In vain: their ranks strewed the ground; six- 
pachas fell with them; the vizier fled, and with 
him the remnant of his once formidable host. 
The Turkish camp, with its immense riches, be- 
came the prey of the victors: not only Germany 



ANT1Q TJITY OF FASTING, 241 

but Europe was saved. The hero of Christendom 
hastened to the cathedral of St. Stephen to join 
in a solemn Te Deum for the success of this 
memorable day. — History of Poland. 



ANTIQUITY OF FASTING. 

The first positive command God gave to man 
was that of fasting or abstaining, when He enjoined 
him not to eat the forbidden fruit. Thus fasting, 
says St. Chrysostom, is coeval with the world, 
and saw the world in its cradle. Not, indeed, that 
man, in the state of innocence, stood in need of fast 
and abstinence as the means of subduing passions 
whose influence he had not yet felt, or of expiating 
sins he had not as yet committed ; but being made 
with senses, God gave him a command relating to 
a sensible thing, to let him know that he had a mas- 
ter, to remind him of his obedience, to serve as a 
check to his desires, and as a caution to the sinner, 
in his state of misery and corruption not to neglect 
a remedy which would have served the innocent 
as an antidote in the state of holiness and in- 
tegrity. 

Let us read the annals of the world. Let us 
unravel the long chains of the most remote and 
venerable antiquity. In every page — at every 



242 ANTIQ UITY OF FASTING. 

period of time since the fall of man, what do I 
see ? I see God exasperated against the sinner, 
and the sinner, humbling himself by prayer, and 
fasting, wrest the thunderbolt out of His hands. 
I see just and righteous men mortifying their 
bodies in order to advance in merits and perfec- 
tion. 

When the small remnant of mankind had 
quitted Noah's ark, God forbade the use of blood, 
as well to inspire them with horror for murder, as 
to dispose themselves and posterity for abstinence. 
The law being published — sacrifices instituted — re- 
ligious rites and legal ceremonies, shadowing forth 
under the veil of figures the sacrifice of the uni- 
versal Victim that was to be one day offered up 
for the redemption of the world — solemn days of 
expiation were appointed, on which the people of 
God were to afflict their bodies on pain of exter- 
mination. In a word, fasting, humiliation, sack- 
cloth, ashes, penance, and amendment of life, are 
seen everywhere in the law and the prophets, as 
means, and the only means, of disarming offended 
justice. 

If it should be said, that such fasting and ex- 
piations were confined to the Mosaic dispensation, 
let it be remarked, that it is only the ceremonial 
part of the old law, such as ablutions, sacrifices, 
and other institutions and ceremonies figurative 
of the mystery of our redemption, that have been 
abolished. But such parts of the Mosaic law as 



ANTIQ TJ1TY OF FASTING. 243 

are founded on the law of nature, such as to 
honor our parents — not to steal — not to commit 
murder, etc., are to remain in their full force as 
long as mortals are in a state of trial under the 
control of God, everywhere present, to hear their 
prayers, to help their endeavors, and to reward 
or punish them according as they overcome or 
yield to their passions. For justice requires that 
the order which has been reversed by sensual 
gratification, should be re-established by penance, 
and in this sense Christ has declared that He 
came, not to abolish, but to bring the law to its 
perfection. 

Hence, whether the Jews, who alone were bound 
by the law of Moses, or the Gentiles, such as the 
Ninevites, who were bound by the law of nature 
only, fasted, their fast was equally acceptable to 
God. Achab, threatened by the prophet, hum- 
bles himself by fasting. The Lord defers, until 
after his death, the punishment with which He 
threatened his family. The Ninevites, enervated 
with ease and luxury, are threatened with utter 
destruction after a lapse of forty days. Their 
voluptuous monarch descends from his throne, 
covers himself with sackcloth and ashes — pro- 
claims a general fast — is imitated by his subjects 
of every description — the Lord relents, and re- 
peals the fatal decree. 

What shall I say of Moses and Elias, fasting on 
solitary mountains to qualify themselves for 



244 ANTIQ U1TY OF FASTING. 

heavenly revelations ? What shall I say of David 
and Esther, mortifying themselves in the midst of 
palaces, the theatres of ease and luxury % What 
shall I say of the Redeemer of the world, who 
fasted for the space of forty days, to show that 
fasting is a sacrifice wherewith none can be dis- 
pensed, whether righteous or sinners ? Not the 
righteous, because they have temptations to con- 
quer, and passions to subdue : sinners much less, 
because they have crimes to atone for. There is 
no sporting with an authority which pleads the 
sanction of Heaven, and commands nothing but 
what has a real and effectual tendency to mortify 
our sinful lusts and affections, purify the soul, 
and assimilate us to a crucified Redeemer, of 
whom St. Paul says that we must "suffer with 
Him, to share His glory " Saul, king of Israel, 
imagined it no grievous sin to reserve, against 
the injunction of the prophet, a few fat lambs out 
of the spoils of Amalec. He reasoned, as I suppose 
every relaxed casuist does, who enters into a kind 
of collusion with a pliant and easy conscience, 
To keep a few lambs out of an immense flock, 
whose owners are doomed to destruction, cannot 
be such a heinous offence. Yet, for this very dis- . 
obedience, God rejected him. ' c And Samuel said, 
hath the Lord so great delight in sacrifices as in 
obeying His voice % behold, to obey is better than 
sacrifice,' * for stubborness is iniquity and idolatry. 
(1 Kings, iv.) — Rev. Arthur O Leary. 



THE BBOKEN HEART. 245 

THE BROKEN HEART-MISS SARAH 
CURRAN. 

«* She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps." 

— Moore 

Every one must recollect the tragical story of 
young Emmet, the Irish patriot 5 it was too touch- 
ing to be soon forgotten. His fate made a deep 
impression on public sympathy During the 
troubles in Ireland he was tried, condemned, and 
executed, on a charge of treason. He was so 
young, so intelligent, so generous, so brave, so 
everything that we are apt to like in a young man. 
His conduct under trial, too, was so lofty and in- 
trepid. The noble indignation with which he re- 
pelled the charge of treason against his country, 
the eloquent vindication of his name, and his 
pathetic appeal to posterity, in the hopeless hour 
of condemnation, all these entered deeply into 
every generous bosom, and even his enemies la- 
mented the stern policy that dictated his execu- 
tion. 

But there was o^e heart, whose anguish it would 
be impossible to describe. In happier days and 
fairer fortunes, he had won the affections of a 
beautiful and interesting girl, the daughter of a 
late celebrated Irish barrister. She loved him 
with the disinterested fervor of a woman's first 
and early love. When every worldly maxim 
arrayed itself against him ; when blasted in for- 



246 THE BROKEN HEART. 

tune, and disgrace and danger darkened around 
his name, she loved him the more ardently for 
his very sufferings. If, then, his fate could 
awaken the sympathy even of his foes, what must 
have been the agony of her whose whole soul was 
occupied by his image ! Let those tell who have 
had the portals of the tomb suddenly closed 
between them and the being they most loved on 
earth, who have sat at its threshold, as one shut 
out in a cold and lonely world, whence all that 
was most lovely and loving had departed. 

But then the horrors of such a grave ! so fright- 
ful, so dishonored ! there was nothing for memory 
to dwell on that could soothe the pangs of separa- 
tion, none of those tender though melancholy 
circumstances, which endear the parting scene, 
nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed tears, 
sent like the dews of heaven to revive the heart 
in the parting hour of anguish. 

To render her widowed situation more desolate, 
she had incurred her father' s displeasure by her 
unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from 
the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and 
kind offices of friends have reached a spirit so 
shocked and driven in by horror, she would have 
experienced no want of consolation, for the Irish 
are a people of quick and generous sensibilities. 
The most delicate and cherished attentions were 
paid her by families of wealth and distinction. 
She was led into society, and they tried by all 



THE BROKEN HEART. 247 

kinds of occupation and amusement to dissipate 
her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of 
her love. 

But it was all in vain. There are some strokes 
of calamity which scathe and scorch the soul, 
vhich penetrate to the vital seat of happiness, 
and blast it, never again to put forth bud or blos- 
som. She never objected to frequent the haunts 
of pleasure, but was as much alone there as in the 
depths of solitude, walking about in a sad reverie, 
apparently unconscious of the world around her. 
She carried with her an inward woe that mocked 
at all the blandishments of friendship, and 
" heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he 
never so wisely/' 

The person who told me her story had seen her 
at a masquerade. There can be no exhibition of 
far-gone wretchedness more striking and painful 
than to meet it in such a scene. To find it wan- 
dering like a spectre lone and joyless, where all 
around is gay, to see it dressed out in the trap- 
pings of mirth, and looking so wan and woe-be- 
gone, as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor 
heart into a momentary forgetfulness of sorrow. 
After strolling through the splendid rooms and 
giddy crowd with an air of utter abstraction, she 
sat herself down on the steps of an orchestra, and, 
looking about for some time with a vacant air, 
that showed her insensibility to the garish scene, 
she began with the capriciousness of a sickly 



*248 THE BROKEN HEART. 

heart, to warble a little plaintive air. She had an 
exquisite voice, but on that occasion it was so 
simple, so touching, it breathed forth such a soul 
•of wretchedness, that she drew a crowd mute and 
silent around her, and melted every one into tears. 

The story of one so true and tender could not 
but excite great interest in a country remarkable 
for enthusiasm. It completely won the heart of 
;a brave officer, who paid his addresses to her, and 
thought that one so true to the dead could not 
but prove affectionate to the living. She declined 
his attentions, for her thoughts were irrevocably 
•engrossed by the memory of her former lover. 
He, however, persisted in his suit. He solicited 
not her tenderness, but her esteem He was as- 
sisted by her conviction of his worth, and her 
-sense of her own destitute and dependent situa- 
tion, for she was existing on the kindness of 
friends. In a word, he at length succeeded in 
:gaining her hand, though with the solemn assur- 
ance that her heart was unalterably another's.. 

He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a 
change of scene might wear out the remembrance 
of her early woes. She was an amiable and ex- 
emplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy 
one ; but nothing could cure the silent and de- 
vouring melancholy that had entered into her 
very soul. She wasted away in a slow but hope- 
less decline, and, at length, sunk into the grave, 
the victim of a broken heart. 

—-Washington Irving, 



NAPOLEON TURNED CATECHIST. 249 



NAPOLEON TURNED CATECHIST. 

Gein\ Bertrand. his faithful companion in cap- 
tivity , had a daughter about ten years old. One 
day the Emperor met her, and said — '' My child, 
you are young, and many dangers await you in 
the world. What will become of you, if you are 
not fortified by religion ? Come to me to-morrow, 
and I will give you your first lesson in catechism." 
For more than two years she went every day to 
the Emperor s quarters, where he heard her recite 
her catechism, and explained it to her with the 
utmost care and precision. When she had at- 
tained her sixteenth year, Napoleon said to her: 
" Now, my child, I believe you are sufficiently in- 
structed in religion; it is time to think seriously 
of your first Communion. I am going to have 
two priests brought hither from France, one who 
will prepare you to live well, and the other will 
teach me to die well." It was done accordingly, 
and this pious young lady who as one might say, 
owed both her faith and her happiness to the 
Emperor Napoleon the Great, herself related these 
details to the bishop who assisted him in his last 
moments, in the month of August, 1845 .—Recom- 
penses Jiebdomadaires {Daily Rewards), No. 
XLVL, p. 19. 



250 LA FAYETTE AND MARIE ANTOINETTE. 



LA FAYETTE AND MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

Between two and three o' clock, the queen and 
the royal family went to bed. La Payette, too, 
slept after the fatigues of this fearful day. At 
half-past four, a portion of the populace made 
their way into the palace, by an obscure interior 
passage, which had been overlooked, and which 
was not in that part of the chateau entrusted to La 
Fayette. They were evidently led by persons 
who well knew the secret avenues. 

The infamous duke of Orleans was repeatedly 
recognized on the great staircase, pointing the 
assassins the way to the queen's chamber. They 
easily found it. Two of her guards were cut 
down in an instant ; and she made her escape. La 
Fayette immediately rushed in with the national 
troops, protected the guards from the brutal pop- 
ulace, and saved the lives of the royal family, 
which had so nearly been sacrificed to the eti- 
quette of the monarchy. 

The day dawned, as this fearful scene of guilt 
and bloodshed was passing in the magnificent 
palace, whose construction had exhausted the 
revenues of Louis XIV., and which, for a century, 
had been the most splendid residence in Europe. 
As soon as it was light, the same furious multi- 
tude filled the vast space which, from the rich 
materials of which it is formed, passes under 



L A FA TETTE AND MARIE ANTOINETTE. 251 

the name of the court of marble. They called 
upon the king, in tones not to be mistaken, to go 
to Paris ; and they called for the queen, who had 
but jusfc escaped from their daggers, to come out 
upon the balcony. 

The king, after a short consultation with his 
ministers, announced his intention to set out for 
the capital ; but La Fayette was afraid to trust 
the queen in the midst of the bloodthirsty mul- 
titude. He went to her, therefore, with respect- 
ful hesitation and asked her, if it were her pur- 
pose to accompany the king to Paris. "Yes," 
she replied, "although I am aware of the dan- 
ger." " Are you positively determined?" "Yes, 
sir." "Condescend, then, to go out upon the 
balcony, and suffer me to attend you." " With- 
out the king?" — she replied hesitating — "have 
you observed the threats?" "Yes, madam, I 
have ; but dare to trust me." 

He led her out upon the balcony. It was a 
moment of great responsibility, and great deli- 
cacy ; but nothing, he felt assured, could be so 
dangerous as to pprmit her to set out for Paris, 
surrounded by that multitude, unless its feelings 
could be changed. The agitation, the tumult, 
the cries of the crowd, rendered it impossible 
that his voice should be heard. It was necessary 
therefore, to address himself to the eye ; and, 
turning towards the queen, with that admirable 
presence of mind which had never yet forsook 



252 DEATH OF MARIE ANTOINETTE. 

him, and with that mingled grace and dignity, 
which were the peculiar inheritance of the an- 
cient court of France, he simply kissed her hand, 
before the vast multitude. 

An instant of silent astonishment followed, but 
the whole was immediately interpreted, and the 
air was rent with cries of " long live the queen !" 
u long live the general !" from the same fickle and 
cruel populace that, only two hours before, had 
imbrued their hands in the blood of the guards 
who defended the life of this same queen. 



DEATH OF MAEIE ANTOINETTE. 

Is there a man's heart that thinks without pity 
of those long months and years and slow- wasting 
ignominy ; of thy birth, self-cradled in imperial 
Schonbrunn, the winds of heaven not to visit thy 
face too roughly, thy foot to light on softness, 
thy eyes on splendor ; and then of thy death, or 
hundred deaths, to which the guillotine, and 
Fonquier-Tinville's judgment bar was but the 
merciful end ! Look there, O man born of woman. 
The blood of that fair face is wasted, the hair is 
gray with care ; the brightness of those eyes is 
quenched, their lids hang drooping, the face is 
stony pale, as of one living in death. Mean weeds 



DEATH OF MARIE ANTOINETTE. 253* 

which her own hand has mended attire the queen 
of the world. The death hurdle where thou sittest 
pale, motionless, which only curses environ, has 
to stop ; a people, drunk with vengeance, will 
drink it again in full draught, looking at thee 
there. Far as the eye reaches, a multitudinous 
sea of maniac heads, the air deaf with their 
triumph-yell! The living-dead must shudder with 
yet one other pang ; her startled blood yet again 
suffuses with the hue of agony that pale face, 
which she hides with her hands. There is there 
no heart to say, God pity thee ! think not of 
these ; think of Him whom thou worshippest, the 
Crucified — who also treading the wine-press alone 
fronted sorrow still deeper ; and triumphed over it 
and made it holy, and built of it a " sanctuary, 
of sorrow" for thee and all the wretched ! Thy 
path of thorns is nigh ended, one long last look 
at the Tuilleries, where thy step was once so 
light — where thy children shall not dwell. The 
head is on the block ; the axe rushes — dumb lies 
the world ; that wild-yelling world, and all its 
madness, is behind thee. — Carlyle, 



254 BA TTLE OF D UNDALK. 



BATTLE OF DUNDALK. 

Sitric, the Danish king, marched with his main 
force to Dundalk, and hurrying Callaghan and 
Duncan on board a ship, tied them to the mast. 
In the mean time, the Munster army reached 
Armagh, which they took by storm, putting the 
whole garrison to the sword, and then pursued 
the main body of the Danes to Dundalk. But 
when they came within view of the towns, they 
were filled with consternation to find that their 
king was a prisoner on board the enemy's fleet, 
which was now completely beyond their reach. 
Their despair, however, was soon converted into 
hope and exultation, when they beheld the Mun» 
ster ships enter the bay, and the Irish admiral's 
quickly alongside that of the Danish general. 
Falbhe Fionn instantly boarded his antagonist, 
sword in hand, and, filled with indignation at the 
sight of his captive sovereign, rushed with irre- 
sistible fury through blood and slaughter, to cut 
the cords which bound him and Duncan to the 
mast; and after hurrying them on board his own 
ship returned to finish the victory which he had so 
gloriously begun. But he speedily fell a sacrifice 
in the cause of his country, and Sitric, cutting off 
his head exposed it, under the impression that it 
would strike his antagonists with terror and 
dismay. It had, however, an opposite effect ; for 



THE MILLER'S PORTRAIT. 255 

Fingall, the second in command, excited to fury 
by the death of his brave admiral, renewed the 
combat, resolved to conquer or die. A sanguinary 
conflict now ensued, but the vast superiority of 
the Danes left the brave Irish faint prospects of 
ultimate success. At this moment of despair, 
Fingall, being a powerful man, adopted a means 
of securing the victory, for which we have scarcely 
a parallel in history. Having singled out Si trie, 
he suddenly rushed on him, grasped him in his 
arms, and threw himself with him into the sea. 
where they both perished. Two other Irish chief- 
tains, fired by his example, leaped over-board 
with Tor and Magnus, the brothers of Sitric, in 
their arms, and the Danes, appalled by such hero- 
ism and the loss of their commanders, gave way 
on every side, and were routed with prodigious 
slaughter.— M' Gregor, 



THE MILLER'S PORTRAIT. 

A worthy miller, wishing for a portrait of 
himself, applied to a painter to have it accom- 
plished. "But," said he, " as I am a very in- 
dustrious man, I wish to be painted as looking out 
of the window of my mill ; but when any one 
looks at me, I wish to pop my head in; so as not 



25Q HOW THE BRIDGE WAS KEPT AT ATHLONE. 

to be th ought lazy, or as spending too much time 
at the window." 

"Very well/' said the painter, "it shall be 
done so/ r He painted the mill, and the mill 
window. The miller looked at it, and inquired. 
' ' Where is myself looking out V- "0" said the 
painter, ' ' whenever one looks at the mill, you 
know you pop in your head to preserve your 
credit for industry." "That's right," said the 
miller, "I'm content , that's right, that will 
do!" 



HOW THEY KEPT THE BEIDGE AT ATH- 
LONE. 

St. Ruth, at Ballinasloe, on his way up from 
Limerick, heard next day that the English town 
had fallen. "He instantly set out at the head 
of fifteen hundred horse and foot, leaving the 
main army to follow as quickly as possible. On 
his arrival, he encamped about two miles west of 
the town, and appointed Lieutenant- General 
d'Usson governor instead of the gallant Fitz- 
gerald, as being best skilled in defending fortified 
places." * Now came the opportunity for that 
splendid artillery, "the like of which/ 7 Mac- 



♦M'Cann. 



HOW THE BRIDGE WAS KEPT AT ATHLONE. 257 

aulay has told us, " had never been seen in Ire- 
land." For seven long days of midsummer there 
poured against the Irish town such a storm of 
iron from seven batteries of heavy siege guns and 
mortars, that by the 27th the place was literally 
a mass of rums, amongst which, we are to]d, 
" two men could not walk abreast." On that day 
''a hundred wagons arrived in the Williamite 
camp from Dublin, laden with a further supply of 
ammunition for the siege guns. 5 ' That evening 
the enemy by grenades set on fire the fascines of 
the Irish breastwork at the bridge, and that night, 
under cover of a tremendous bombardment, they 
succeeded in flinging some beams over the broken 
arches, and partially planking them Next morn- 
ing—it was Sunday, the 28th June— the Irish saw 
with consternation that barely a few planks more 
laid on would complete the bridge. Their own 
few cannon were now nearly all buried in the 
ruined masonry, and the enemy beyond had bat- 
tery on battery trained on the narrow spot— it 
was death to show in the line of the all but fin- 
ished causeway ! 

Out stepped from the ranks of Maxwell's regi- 
ment, a sergeant of dragoons, Custume by name 
" Are there ten men here who will die with me 
for Ireland?'' A hundred eager voices shouted 
aye. "Then," said he, "we will save Athlone; 
the bridge must go down." 

Grasping axes and crow-bars, the devoted band 



258 HOW THE BRIDGE WAS KEPT AT ATHLONE. 

rushed from behind the breastwork, and dashed 
forward upon the newly laid beams. A peal of 
artillery — a f usilade of musketry — from the other 
side, and the space was swept with grape-shot 
and bullets. When the smoke cleared away, 
the bodies of the brave Custume and his ten 
heroes lay on the bridge, riddled with balls. 
They had torn away some of the beams, hut every 
man of the eleven Jiad perished ! 

Out from the ranks of the same regiment dashed 
as many more volunteers. " There are eleven 
men more who will die for Ireland." Again 
across the bridge rushed the heroes. Again the 
spot is swept by a murderous fusilade. The 
smoke lifts from the scene; nine of the second 
band lie dead upon the bridge— two survive, but 
the work is done ! The last beam is gone; Ath- 
lone once more is saved ! 

I am not repeating a romance of fiction, but 
narrating a true story, recorded by lookers-on, 
and corroborated in all its substance by writers 
on the Williamite and on the Jacobite side. 
When, therefore, young Irishmen read in Eoman 
history of Horatius Codes and his comrades, who 

— " kept the bridge 
In the brave days of old," 

let them remember that the authentic annals of 
Ireland record a scene of heroism not dissimilar 
in many of its features, not less glorious in 



SONGS OF OUR LAND. 259 

aught! And when they read also of the fabled 
Roman patriot who plunged into the abyss at the 
forum, to save the city, let them remember that 
such devotion, not in fable, but in fact, has been 
still more memorably exhibited by Irishmen, and 
let them honor beyond the apocryphal Curtius, 
the brave Custume and his glorious companions, 
who died for Ireland at Athlone. 



SONGS OF OUR LAND. 

Songs of our land, ye are with us forever, 
The power and the splendor of thrones passed 
away ; 
But yours is the might of some far-flowing river, 
Through Summer's bright roses or Autumn's 
decay. 
Ye treasure each voice of the swift passing ages, 
And truth, which time writeth on leaves or on 
sand , 
Ye bring us the bright thought of poets and sages, 
And keep them among us, old songs of our land. 

The bards may go down to the place of their 
slumbers, 
The lyre of the charmer be hushed in the grave, 
But far in the future the power of their numbers 



260 SONGS OF UB LAND . 

Shall kindle the hearts of our faithful and brave. 
It will waken an echo in souls deep and lonely, 
Like voices of reed by the summer breeze 
fanned , 
It will call up a spirit of freedom, when only 
Her breathings are heard in the songs of our 
land. 

For they keep a record of those, the true hearted, 
Who fell with the cause they had vowed to 
maintain , 
They show us bright shadows of glory departed, 
Of love that grew cold, and the hope that was 
vain. 
The page may be lost, and the pen long forsaken, 
And weeds may grow wild o'er the brave heart 
and hand ; 
But ye are still left when all else hath been taken, 
Like streams in the desert, sweet songs of our 
land. 

Songs of our land, ye have followed the stranger 

With power over ocean and desert afar, 
Ye have gone with our wanderers through dis 
tance and danger, 
And gladdened their path like a home-guiding 
star. 
With the breath of our mountains in summers 
long vanished, 
And visions that passed like a wave from the 
sand, 



THE CHARMED SERPENT. 261 

With hope for tlieir country and joy for her ban- 
ished, 
Ye came to us ever, sweet songs of our land. 

The spring-time may come with the song of our 
glory, 
To bid the green heart of the forest rejoice, 
But the pine of the mountain, though blasted and 
hoary, 
And the rock in the desert, can send forth a voice. 
It was thus of their triumph for deep desolations, 
While ocean waves roll, or the mountains shall 
stand, 
Still hearts that are bravest and best of the nations 
Shall glory and live in the songs of their land. 
— Frances Browne, the Blind Poetess., of 
Donegal. 



THE CHARMED SERPENT. 

One day, while we were encamped in a spacious 
plain on the bank of the Genesee River, we saw 
a rattlesnake. There was a Canadian in our party 
who could play on the flute, and to divert us he 
advanced toward the serpent with his new species 
of weapon. On the approach of his enemy, the 
haughty reptile curls himself into a spiral line, 
flattens bis head, inflates his cheeks, contracts his 



262 TEE CEARMED SERPENT. 

lips, displays his evenomed fangs and his bloody 
throat. His double tongue glows like two flames 
of fire ; his eyes are burning coals ; his body, 
swollen with rage, rises and falls like the bellows 
of a forge * his dilated skin assumes a dull and 
scaly appearance ; and his tail, which sends forth 
an ominous sound, vibrates with such rapidity as 
to resemble a light vapor. 

The Canadian now begins to play on his flute. 
The serpent starts with surprise and draws back 
his head. In proportion as he is struck with the 
magic sound, his eyes lose their fierceness, the 
oscillations of his tail diminish, and the noise 
which it emits grows weaker, and gradually dies 
away. The spiral folds of the charmed serpent, 
diverging from the perpendicular, expand, and 
one after the other sink to the ground in concen- 
tric circles. The tints of azure, green, white, and 
gold, recover their brilliancy on his quivering 
skin, and, slightly turning his head, he remains 
motionless in the attitude of attention and 
pleasure. 

At this moment the Canadian advanced a few 
steps, producing with his flute sweet and simple 
notes. The reptile immediately lowers his va- 
riegated neck, opens a passage with his head 
through the slender grass, and begins to creep 
after the musician, halting when he halts, and 
again following him when he resumes his march. 
In this way he was led beyond the limits of our 



TWO VIEWS OF NATURE. 263 

camp, attended by a great number of spectators, 
both savages and Europeans, who could scarcely 
believe their eyes. After witnessing this wonder- 
ful effect of melody, the assembly unanimously 
decided that the marvellous serpent should be 
permitted to escape. — Chateaubriand. 



TWO VIEWS OF NATURE. 

We often rose at midnight and sat down upon 
deck, where we found only the officer of the 
watch and a few sailors silently smoking their 
pipes. No noise was heard, save the dashing of 
the prow through the billows, while sparks of fire 
ran with a white foam along the sides of the 
vessel. God of Christians ! it is on the waters 
of the abyss and on the vast expanse of the 
heavens that Thou hast particularly engraven the 
character of Thy omnipotence ! Millions of stars 
sparkling in the azure of the celestial dome — the 
moon in the midst of the firmament — a sea un- 
bounded by any shore — infinitude in the skies and 
on the waves — proclaim with most impressive 
effect the power of Thy arm ! Never did Thy 
greatness strike me with profounder awe than in 
those nights, when, suspended between the stars 



264 TWO VIEWS OF NATURE. 

and the ocean, I beheld immensity over my head 
and immensity beneath my feet ! 

I am nothing ; I am only a simple, solitary 
wanderer, and often have I heard men of science 
disputing on the subject of a Supreme Being, 
without understanding them ; but I have invari- 
ably remarked, that it is in the prospect of the 
sublime scenes of nature that this unknown Being 
manifests Himself to the human heart. One even- 
ing, after we had reached the beautiful waters 
that bathe the shores of Virginia, there was a pro- 
found calm, and every sail was furled. I was en- 
gaged below, when I heard the bell that summoned 
the crew to prayers. I hastened to mingle my 
supplications with those of my travelling com- 
panions. The officers of the ship were on the 
quarter-deck with the passengers, while the chap- 
lain, with a book in his hand, was stationed at a 
little distance before them ; the seamen were scat- 
tered at random over the poop, we were all stand- 
ing, our faces toward the prow of the vessel, 
which was turned to the west. 

The solar orb, about to sink beneath the waves, 
was seen through the rigging, in the midst of 
boundless space; and, from the motion of the 
stern, it appeared as if it changed its horizon every 
moment. A few clouds wandered confusedly in 
the east, where the moon was slowly rising. The 
rest of the sky was serene ; and towards the north, 
a water- spout, forming a glorious triangle with 



TWO VIEWS OF NATURE. 265 

the luminaries of day and night, and glistening 
with all the colors of the prism, rose from the sea 
like a column of crystal supporting the vault of 
heaven. 

He had been well deserving of pity who would 
not have recognized in this prospect the beauty 
of God. When my companions, doffing their 
tarpaulin hats, entoned with hoarse voice their 
simple hymn to Our Lady of Good Help, the 
patroness of the seas, the tears flowed from my 
eyes in spite of myself. How affecting was the 
prayer of those men, who, from a frail plank in 
the midst of the ocean, contemplated the sun set- 
ting behind the waves ! 

How the appeal of the poor sailor to the Mother 
of Sorrows went to the heart ! The conscious- 
ness of our insignificance in the presence of the 
Infinite — our hymns, resounding to a distance 
over the silent waves — the night approaching 
with its dangers — our vessel, itself a wonder 
among so many wonders, a religious crew, pen- 
etrated with admiration and with awe, — a vener- 
able priest in prayer— the Almighty bending over 
the abyss, with one hand staying the sun in the 
west, with the other raising the moon in the east, 
and lending, through all immensity, an attentive 
ear to the feeble voice of His creatures — all rhis 
constituted a scene which no power of art can 
represent, and which it is scarcely possible for the 
heart of man to feel. 



266 TWO VIEWS OF NATURE. 

Let us now pass to the terrestrial scene. 

I had wandered one evening, in the woods, at 
some distance from the cataract of Magara, when 
soon the last glimmering of daylight disappeared, 
and I enjoyed, in all its loneliness, the beauteous 
prospect of night amid the deserts of the New 
World. 

An hour after sunset, the moon appeared above 
the trees in the opposite part of the heavens. A 
balmy breeze, which the Queen of night had 
brought with her from the east, seemed to pre- 
cede her in the forests, like her perf umed breath. 
The lonely luminary slowly ascended in the fir- 
mament, now peacefully pursuing her azure 
course, and now reposing on groups of clouds, 
which resembled the summits of lofty, snow- 
covered mountains. These clouds, by the con- 
traction and expansion of their vapory forms, 
rolled themselves into transparent zones of white 
satin, scattering in airy masses of foam, or form- 
ing in the heavens brilliant beds of down so lovely 
to the eye that you would have imagined you felt 
their softness and elasticity. 

The scenery on the earth was not less enchant- 
ing ; the soft and bluish beams of the moon darted 
through the intervals between the trees, and threw 
streams of light into the midst of the most pro- 
found darkness. The river that glided at my 
feet was now lost in the wood, and now reappear- 
ing, glistening with the constellations of night, 



TWO VIEWS OF NATUBE. 267 

which were reflected on its bosom. In a vast 
plain beyond this stream, the radiance of the moon 
reposed quietly on the verdure. 

Birch-trees scattered here and there in the 
savanna, and agitated by the breeze, formed 
shadowy islands which floated on a motionless 
sea of light. Near me, all was silence and repose, 
save the fall of some leaf, the transient rustling 
of a sudden breath of wind, or the hooting of 
the owl ; but at a distance was heard, at inter- 
vals, the solemn roar of the falls of Niagara, which 
in the stillness of the night was prolonged from 
desert to desert, and died away among the solitary 
forests. 

The grandeur, the astonishing solemnity of the 
scene, cannot be expressed in language ; nor can 
the most delightful sights of Europe afford any 
idea of it. In vain does imagination attempt to 
soar in our cultivated fields ; it everywhere meets 
with the habitations of men : but in those wild 
regions the mind loves to penetrate into an ocean 
of forests, to hover round the abysses of cataracts, 
to meditate on the banks of lakes and rivers, and 
as it were, to find itself alone with God. 

— Chateaubriand. 



268 REBUILDING OF THE TEMPLE. 



JULIAN THE APOSTATE SEEKS TO RE- 
BUILD THE TEMPLE OF JERUSALEM 

The miracles of Our Lord prove His divinity, 
but no less do His prophecies. Of these the last 
one in particular has been much celebrated ; it is 
that in which He said, speaking of the temple of 
Jerusalem : There shall not remain of it a stone 
upon a stone. The Emperor Julian the Apostate, 
who lived in 362, undertook to falsify this so 
clear prediction. He announced to the Jews that 
he w 7 as going to rebuild their temple, inviting 
them to lend their aid. He attracted the most 
skilful workmen from every country, employed 
whole troops of laborers, and committed the super- 
intendence of the work to Alypius, one of his 
most devoted officers. The Jews flocked to Jeru- 
salem from every quarter of the world ; they ex- 
ulted, and published everywhere that the king- 
dom of Israel was about to be re-established. 
They feared not even to insult the Christians in a 
thousand ways, because they felt themselves sup- 
ported by the imperial power. What remained of 
the ancient temple was easily destroyed, so that 
the Scripture was literally fulfilled, and not one 
stone left on another. With the same facility 
were the foundations dug out anew. But, as soon 
as the first stones were laid, there came a tremen- 
dous earthquake, which cast the stones forth to a 



REBUILDING OF THE TEMPLE. 269 

great distance. Fierce whirlwinds arose too, and 
carried off the sand, lime, and other materials, 
which had been heaped np in immense quantities. 
But what was most terrible, as it was most evi- 
dently supernatural, great globes of fire issuing 
from the building and rolling in all directions 
with frightful rapidity, threw down the workmen, 
cast them forth, consumed them body and bones, 
and reduced them to ashes. The flames even 
sought and destroyed the hammers, pickaxes, 
chisels and all other tools which were stored 
away in a separate building. A torrent of fire 
winding through the place and shooting hither 
and thither burned or stifled the Jews, whom it 
seemed to distinguish from the Christians, and 
from even the pagans. The dread phenomenon 
was renewed several times in open day. By nigh t, 
the Jews perceived on their garments, crosses so 
indelibly stamped that, do what they would, they 
could not efface them. A luminous cross was also 
seen in the heavens, from Calvary to Mount Olivet. 
The obstinate children of Israel failed not to re- 
turn several times to their work. They encour- 
aged each other to persevere, hoping to secure the 
favor of the apostate prince. Every time they 
were repulsed in a manner equally fatal and mir- 
aculous ; so that many of them, and a still greater 
number of idolaters, openly confessed the divinity 
of Jesus Christ and asked for baptism. This truly 
wonderful prodigy has been recorded, not only by 



270 A BEAUTIFUL IDEA. 

all the ecclesiastical writers, but by several pagan 
authors, and especially Ammien-Marcellinus, who 
lived in that time. St. John Chrysostom even 
adds that, in his time, the foundations dug out 
by the Jews were still wide open and plain to be 
seen.— IZeyre, Anec. C7iret., 28. 



A BEAUTIFUL IDEA. 

" ' Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
Our coming, and look brighter when we come.'* 

Lsr the mountains of the Tyrol, hundreds of the 
women and children come out when it is bedtime, 
and sing their national song until they hear their 
husbands, fathers, or brothers answer them from 
the hills on their return home. On the shores of 
the Adriatic, the wives of the fishermen come 
down about sunset, and sing a melody. They 
sing the first verse, and then listen for some time ; 
they then sing the second verse, and then listen 
until they hear the answer come from the fisher- 
men, who are thus guided by the sounds to their 
own village. 



BEAUTIFUL SWISS CUSTOM. 271 



BEAUTIFUL SWISS CUSTOM. 

It was formerly the usage of the Swiss peas- 
antry to watch the setting sun, until he had left 
the valleys and was sinking behind the ever snow- 
clad mountains, when the mountaineers would 
seize their horns, and sing through the instrument, 
" Praise the Lord." This was caught up from 
Alp to Alp by the descendants of Tell, and re- 
peated until it reached the valleys below. A 
solemn silence then ensued, until the last trace of 
the sun disappeared, when the herdsman on the 
top sang out, " Good-night," which was repeated 
as before, until every one retired to his resting- 
place. 

The Swedish mountaineers, since the days of the 
great Gustavus, have been extravagantly fond of 
music. The female mountaineers blow on an in- 
strument called a Zar, a. sort of long trumpet, 
sometimes twelve feet in length. Its sound is 
strong, and at the same time sharp, yet by no 
means unpleasant. When supported by one and 
played on by another, it presents a very odd ap- 
pearance, and may be heard at a very great 
distance. 



272 THE BELL IS THE VOICE OF GOD. 

THE BELL IS THE VOICE OF GOD. 

Golden dreams though my mind are gliding, 
Bright scenes of home before me roll, 

Child on my father's knee I'm riding — 
When lo, on my ear th' toll, toll, toll ; 
From th' matin bell rings to my soul — 
I am the Voice of God. 

Up from my couch, while quickly leaping, 

I raise my soul to God on high, 
Soon from books I am gaily reaping, 

The golden crops that in them lie ; 
Andth' noon-day bell whispers right we 11-^ 
I am the Voice of God. 

The sable clouds of night are falling, 
Their shades upon my thoughts are now 

My actions of the day recalling, 
I need to pray with sober brow ; 

Then th' vesper bell chimes out so well — 
I am the Voice of God. 

Thus my life I am calmly spending, 
Within St. Mary's peaceful walls, 
To pray' rs and games, to studies tending, 

As each of them to my lot falls ; 
And I hear th' swell of th' college bell — 
As if the Voice of God. 

— Treacy. 



LETTER TO TEE MARQUIS WELLESLEY. 273 



LETTER TO THE MARQUIS WELLESLEY. 

It was the creed, my Lord, of a Charlemagne, 
of a St. Louis, of an Alfred and an Edward, of 
the monarchs of the feudal times, as well as of the 
emperors of Greece and Rome ; it was believed 
at Venice and at Genoa, in Lucca and the Helve- 
tic nations, in the days of their freedom and 
greatness ; all the barons of the middle ages, all 
the free cities of latter times, professed the relig- 
ion we now profess. You well know, my Lord, 
that the charter of British freedom, and the 
common law of England, have their origin and 
source in Catholic times. Who framed the free 
constitution of the Spanish Goths ? Who pre- 
served science and literature during the long 
night of the middle ages ? Who imported litera- 
ture from Constantinople and opened for her an 
asylum at Rome, Florence, Padua, Paris and Ox- 
ford \ Who polished Europe by art, and refined 
her by legislation? Who discovered the New 
World, and opened a passage to another ? Who 
were the masters of architecture, of painting, 
of music % Who invented the compass, and 
the art of printing? Who were the poets, the 
historians, the jurists, the men of deep research 
and profound literature ? Who have exalted hu- 
man nature, and made man appear little less than 
the angels \ Were they not almost exclusively 



274 SURRENDER OF GRENADA. 

the professors of our creed? Were they who 
created and possessed freedom under every shape 
and form, unfit for her enjoyment? Were men, 
deemed even now the lights of the world, and 
the benefactors of the human race, the deluded 
victims of a slavish superstition? — Dr. Doyle. 



SURRENDER OF GRENADA. 

Day dawned upon Grenada, and the beams of 
the winter sun smiling away the clouds of the past 
night played cheerily upon the murmuring waves 
of the Xenil and the Darro. Alone, upon a 
balcony commanding a view of the beautiful 
landscape stood Boabdil, the last of the Moorish 
kings. He had sought to bring to his aid all the 
lessons of the philosophy he had so ardently 
cultivated. 

' ' What are we, ' ' said the musing prince, ' i that 
we should fill the earth with ourselves — we kings! 
Earth resounds with the crash of my falling 
throne ; on the ear of races unborn the echo will 
live prolonged. But what have I lost ? Nothing 
that was necessary to my happiness, my repose ; 
nothing save the source of all my wretchedness, 
the Marah of my life ! Shall I less enjoy heaven 
and earth, or thought and action, or man's more 



SURRENDER OF GRENADA. 215 

material luxuries of food and sleep — the common 
and cheap desires of all % At the worst I sink 
but to a level with chiefs and princes ; I am but 
leveled with those whom the multitude admire 
and envy, . . .But it is time to depart." So saying 
he descended to the court, flung himself on his 
barb, and with a small and saddened train passed 
through the gate which we yet survey by a 
blackened and crumbling tower, overgrown with 
vines and ivy, thence amid gardens, now apper- 
taining to a convent of the victor faith, he took 
his mournful and unnoticed way. 

The sun had fairly risen above the mountains, 
when Boabdil and his train beheld, from the 
eminence on which they were, the whole arma- 
ment of Spain ; and, at the same moment louder 
than the tramp of horse or the clash of arms, was 
heard distinctly the solemn chant of Te Deum 
which preceded the blaze of the unfurled and 
x lofty standards. Boabdil, himself still silent, 
'heard the groans and acclamations of his train ; 
he turned to cheer or chide them, and then saw 
from his own watch-tower, with the sun shining 
full upon its pure and dazzling surface,' the silver 
cross of Spain. His Alhambra was already in the 
hands of the foe ; while beside that badge of the 
holy war waved the gay and flaunting flag of St. 
Jago, the canonized Mars of the chivalry of Spain. 
At that sight the King' s voice died within him ; he 
gave the rein to his barb, impatient to close the 



276 SURRENDER OF GRENADA. 

fatal ceremonial, and slackened not his speed till 
almost within bow-shot of the first rank of the 
army. 

Never had Christian war assumed a more 
splendid and imposing aspect. Far as the eye 
could reach, extended the glittering and gorgeous 
lines of that goodly power, bristling with sun- 
lighted spears and blazoned banners ; while be- 
side, murmured, and glowed, and danced, the 
silver and laughing Xenil, careless what lord 
should possess, for his little day, the banks that 
bloomed by its everlasting course. By a small 
mosque, halted the flower of the army. Sur- 
rounded by the arch-priests of that mighty hier- 
archy, the peers and princes of a court that 
rivaled the Roland of Charlemagne, was seen the 
kingly form of Ferdinand himself, with Isabel 
at his right hand, and the high-born dames of 
Spain, relieving, with their gay colors and spark- 
ling gems, the sterner splendor of the crested 
helmet and polished mail. Within sight of the 
royal group, Boabdil halted, composed his aspect 
so as best to conceal his soul, and a little in 
advance of his scanty train, but never in mien 
majestic more a king, the son of Abdallah met his 
haughty conqueror. 

At the sight of his princely countenance and 
golden hair, his comely and commanding beauty, 
made more touching by youth, a thrill of com- 
passionate admiration, ran through that assem- 



SURRENDER OF GRENADA. 277 

bly of the brave and fair. Ferdinand and 
Isabel slowly advanced to meet their late rival — 
their new subject ; and as Boabdil would have 
dismounted, the Spanish king placed his hand 
upon his shoulder. " Brother and prince," said 
he, " forget thy sorrows ; and may our friendship 
hereafter console thee for reverses against which 
thou hast contended as a hero and a king ; resist- 
ing man, but resigned at length to God." 

Boabdil did not affect to return this bitter but 
unintentional mockery of compliment. He bowed 
his head, and remained a moment silent; then, 
motioning to his train, four of his officers ap- 
proached, and, kneeling beside Ferdinand, prof- 
fered to him, upon a silver buckler, the keys of 
the city. " Oh, king !" then said- Boabdil, " ac- 
cept the keys of the last hold which has resisted 
the arms of Spain ! The empire of the Moslem is 
no more. Thine are the city and the people of 
Grenada ; yielding to thy prowess, they yet con- 
fide in thy mercy." "They do well," said the 
king ; " our promises shall not be broken. But 
since we know the gallantry of Moorish cavaliers, 
not to us, but to gentler hands, shall the keys 
of Grenada be surrendered." 

Thus saying Ferdinand gave the keys to Isabel, 
who would have addressed some soothing flat- 
teries to Boabdil, but the emotion and excitement 
were too much for her compassionate heart, 
heroine and queen though she was ; and when 



278 SURRENDER OF GRENADA. 

she lifted her eyes npon the calm and pale 
features of the fallen monarch, the tears gushed 
from them irresistibly, and her voice died in 
murmurs. A faint flush overspread the features 
of Boabdil, and there was a momentary pause of 
embarrassment, which the Moor was the first to 
break. 

" Fair queen," said he, with mournful and pa- 
thetic dignity, "thou canst read the heart that 
thy generous sympathy touches and subdues ; 
this is my last, but not least glorious conquest. 
But I detain ye ; let not my aspect cloud your 
triumph. Suffer me to say farewell." "Fare- 
well, my brother," replied Ferdinand, "and may 
fair fortune go with you! Forget the past!" 
Boabdil smiled bitterly , saluted the royal pair with 
profound respect and silent reverence, and rode 
slowly on, leaving the army below, as he ascended 
the path that led to his new principality, beyond 
the Alpuxarras. As the trees snatched the Moor- 
ish cavalcade from the view of the king, Ferdinand 
ordered the army to recommence its march ; and 
trumpet and cymbal presently sent their music to 
the ear of the Moslem. 

Boabdil spurred on, at full speed, till his pant- 
ing charger halted at the little village where his 
mother, his slaves, and his faithful wife, Armine, 
(sent on before), awaited him. Joining these, he 
proceeded without delay upon his melancholy 
path. They ascended that eminence, which is the 



MISS NANO NAGLE. 279 

pass into the Alpuxarras, From its height, the 
vale, the rivers, the spires, and the towers of 
Grenada, broke gloriously upon the view of the lit- 
tle band. They halted mechanically and abruptly ; 
every eye was turned to the beloved scene. The 
proud shame of baffled warriors, the tender mem- 
ories of home, of childhood, of fatherland, swelled 
every heart, and gushed from every eye. 

Suddenly, the distant boom of artillery broke 
from the citadel, and rolled along the sun -lighted 
valley and crystal river. An universal wail burst 
from the exiles ; it smote, it overpowered the 
heart of the ill-starred king, in vain seeking to 
wrap himself in the eastern pride of stoical phil- 
osophy. The tears gushed from his eyes, and he 
covered his face with his hands. The band 
wound slowly on through the solitary defiles ; 
and that place, where the king wept at the last 
view of his lost empire, is still called The Last 
Sigh of the Moor.— Bulwer* 



MISS NANO NAGLE— NUNS OF THE PRES- 
ENTATION ORDER. 

In tracing the progress of the human mind, it 
is often delightful to derive instruction, not only 
from the characters which occupy the prominent 



280 M1S8 NANO NAGLE. 

* 
scenes of history, but also from those beneficent 

spirits who have most effectively though unobtrus- 
ively promoted the interests of society. Among 
the latter, we owe the tribute of our gratitude to 
those who have increased our stock of knowledge 
— still more to such as have contributed to its 
diffusion — but most of all to tho^e practical phil- 
anthropists who have made it the instrument of 
great and permanent good. The biography of 
such individuals has often a charm beyond the 
more troubled and diffusive course of general 
history, and if their lives be marked by trials 
and difficulties, and their conduct and enterprises 
bear the impress of providential design, it excites 
in the reflecting mind an interest as intense as 
it is elevating and influential. We may often 
seek in vain for even a passing allusion to such 
characters in the annals of their country ; but 
they are more touchingly and faithfully recorded 
in the institutions to which they have given 
birth. 

Among those which have adorned the last 
century, our own country may claim one of the 
most remarkable in providential design, as well 
as in practical beneficence. It is indeed not a 
little singular that the reviver of popular edu- 
cation in this country should be a female ; and 
that a scene which, at the time of its occurrence, 
seemed merely accidental, should form the pre- 
lude and occasion of one of the noblest institutes 



MISS NANO NAQLE. 281 

ever opened to the moral wants of onr species. 

Miss Nano JNagle, who had the glory and the 
happiness of being the instrument of a paternal 
Providence in this visitation of mercy, was de- 
scended of an opulent and respectable family in 
the county of Cork. 

Sent to Paris for the purpose of education, the 
moral and intellectual energy by which she was 
characterized there received its first development, 
as well as its future direction. Introduced at a 
subsequent period to the brilliant society of that 
metropolis, she mingled occasionally in its amuse- 
ments, without yielding to their fascination. It 
was at this time an incident occurred, trivial in 
itself, but which proved deeply impressive to her, 
and gave an impulse to the entire tenor of her 
subsequent conduct. Returning one morning 
from a ball, she observed a group of poor people 
at the gate of a church, waiting for admittance, 
for the purpose of worshiping the Author of their 
being, and of consecrating to Him the actions of 
the day, in nnion with the divine Victim who was 
then about to be offered up. No homily could be 
more impressive, with her, than this silent but 
eloquent remonstrance on the vanity of misspent 
time, and the selfishness and folly of a life of 
pleasure. A mingled feeling of shame and sor- 
row stole upon her as she contemplated that 
humble but fervent group of worshippers, and 
contrasted the exalted object to which they de- 



282 JHpBflfiar NANO NAGLE. 

voted their time, with the illusions of the scene 
from which she had recently passed. 

The impression was not a passing emotion, but 
a heart-felt conviction. Her mind was of too 
noble a stamp not to feel proudly and energetically 
all that the Spirit of God suggested to her on that 
interesting occasion. Eecalling to mind His 
mercies, both general and special, she felt that it 
would be most ungenerous on her part, if she did 
not atone for any tepidity in her past life by an 
unqualified consecration of herself to that benefi- 
cent Being, whose yoke was far sweeter than the 
boasted freedom of a life of pleasure. An offer- 
ing so devoted could not fail of being accepted ; 
the will of God was gradually manifested towards 
her, by bringing vividly before her mind the moral 
wants of her own country, her perfect adaptation 
for the relief of those wants, by the talents and 
qualities with which she was endowed, by her 
social influence and position, the new but power- 
ful sympathy awakened within her for the relig- 
ious destitution of the poor, and, above all, the 
directing voice of her superiors. One of the 
noblest missions ever opened to the heart and hand 
of charity was the reward of her devotedness. 
The female poor of a country, where education 
had been long prohibited as a crime, and who con- 
sequently languished under all evils which ignor- 
ance is sure to entail, were confided to her care ; 
she was destined not only to renew before the 



MISS NANO NAOLE. 283 

altar of God, a light still brighter and more per- 
manent than that with which the first of Irish 
virgins honored the shrine of Kildare ; bnt to 
diffuse it from the sanctuary over the land, until 
it carried its purifying influence into the lowliest 
abode of poverty, as well as into the darkest haunt 
of guilt. On returning to her native land, she 
divested herself of her worldly dress and orna- 
ments and assumed the humble garb and painful 
duties of a teacher— a teacher who combined the 
zeal of an apostle with more than a mother's love, 
and who brightened and smoothed the path of 
knowledge, with the look and smile of redeeming 
charity. It was not, however, until she had 
passed through the ordeal of trial and difficulty, 
to which God ordinarily subjects those whom He 
elects as the instrument of great and extensive 
good, that she was enabled to realize the project 
which she had in view. It was not only the ter- 
rors of a penal code, and the scorn and ridicule 
of the worldly-minded and the selfish which she 
had to encounter ; but what was still more dis- 
tressing, the anger and reproaches of friends, and 
the depraved habits as well as the gross ignorance 
of the pupils first committed to her charge. 
Commencing the work of mercy, alone and un- 
aided, with very limited resources, and in a deli- 
cate state of health, she soon sank under the labors 
of her zeal ; but the hand that led her to the enter- 
prise sustained her under this visitation, and re- 



'284 MI8S NANO NAGLE. 

stored her once more to the cause of charity, not 
only with renovated health, but with ample means 
.for the execution of her benevolent designs. An 
example so devoted could not fail to exercise its 
salutary influence on others, and the comforts 
and ties of home were soon sacrificed for the toils 
;and privations of charity, by a train of generous 
.rivals and imitators in the same course. This little 
association became the germ of that noble insti- 
tute, which, under the patronage of the Blessed 
'Virgin, and the title of her Presentation in the 
'Temple, has since overshadowed the land, giving 
security and repose to the various objects of moral 
• destitution. Though her first efforts were directed 
to the instruction of the poor, Miss Nagle subse- 
■ quently became the foundress of that invaluable in- 
stitute, for the education of the higher and mid- 
dling classes, which under the patronage of St. 
■Ursula, has tended so powerfully to promote the 
interests of religion and morality in those grades of 
; society. But her zeal was not limited to these un- 
dertakings ; it extended to the education of in- 
digent male children, and she may be justly con- 
sidered the precursor of those numerous religious 
-establishments for their literary and moral train- 
ing, which are now so extensively diffused 
through the country. An order similar to her 
institution of the Presentation, had been pre- 
viously established in France, by M. N. Sanguin, 
the holy bishop of Senlis, and may have probably 



MISS NANO NAQLE. 285 

suggested the model. At present this institute 
numbers more than thirty houses in the kingdom, 
with an average of from fifteen to twenty thou- 
sand pupils in daily attendance throughout the 
year, exclusive of a few houses in Great Britain, 
all the growth of little more than half a century. 
Without, then, detracting in the least from the 
brilliant reputation of that gifted lady, with 
whose poetical effusions we have enriched our 
present work, or the more masculine genius of 
her, who has penetrated the abyss of the heavens, 
and trod the milky- way, or the rare talents and 
practical wisdom of our own countrywoman, who 
has written so ably on the duties and moralities 
of social life, we venture to assert, that the rec- 
ords of the three kingdoms cannot produce, in 
ancient or modern times, a female who has 
achieved so much for the cause of education and 
religion, and proved such a benefactress to her 
kind as this lady, whose only monument is the 
institutions which she raised. — C. B. 



286 LAST HO UBS OF MART Q UEEN OF SCOTS. 



THE LAST HOURS OF MARY QUEEN OF 
SCOTS. 

When she was shown the ratification of her 
sentence, and the order for her execution, signed 
by Elizabeth, she tranquilly remarked, "It is 
well ; this is the generosity of Queen Elizabeth ! 
Could any one believe she would have dared to 
go to these extremities with me, who am her 
sister and her equal, and who could not be her 
subject ? Nevertheless, God be praised for all, 
since He does me this honor of dying for Him 
and for His Church. Blessed be the moment that 
will end my pilgrimage ; a soul so cowardly as 
not to accept this last combat on earth, would be 
unworthy of heaven!" 

It was night, and she entered her chapel and 
prayed, with her naked knees on the bare pave- 
ment. She then said to her women, "I would 
eat something, so that my heart may not fail me 
to-morrow, and that I may do nothing to make 
my friends ashamed of me." Her last repast 
was sober, solemn, but not without some sallies 
of humor. "Wherefore," she asked Bastien, 
who had been her chief buffoon, "dost thou not 
seek to amuse me ? Thou art a good mimic, but 
a bitter servant." 

Returning soon after, to the idea that her death 



LAST HO UBS OF MABY Q JJEEN OF SCOTS. 287 

was a martyrdom, and addressing Bourgoin, her 
physician, who waited on her, and Melvil, her 
steward, who were both kept under arrest, as 
well as Preaux, her almoner: " Bourgoin," said 
she, u did you hear the Earl of Kent? It would 
have taken another kind of doctor to convict me. 
He has acknowledged besides that the warrant 
for my execution is the triumph of heresy in this 
country. It is true," she rejoined with pious 
satisfaction, "they put me to death not as an 
accomplice of conspiracy, but as a queen devoted 
to the Church. Before their tribunal my faith is 
my crime, and the same shall be my justification 
before my Sovereign Judge." 

Her maidens, her officers, all her attendants 
were struck with grief, and looked upon her in 
silence, being scarcely able to contain themselves. 
Toward the end of the repast, Mary spoke of her 
testament, in which none of their names were to 
be omitted. She asked for the silver and jewels 
which remained, and distributed them with her 
hand as with her heart. She addressed farewells 
to each, with that delicate tact so natural to hei, 
and with kindly emotion. She asked their par- 
don, and gave her own to every one present or 
absent. Th ey all burst into sobs, and threw them- 
selves on their knees around the table. The 
queen, much moved, drank to their health, invit- 
ing them to drink also to her salvation. They 
weepingly obeyed, and in their turn drank to 



288 LAST HO UBS OF MART Q TTEEN OF SCOTS. 

their mistress, carrying to their lips the cup in 
which their tears mingled with the wine. 

The queen, affected at this sad spectacle, 
wished to be alone. She composed her last will. 
When written and finished, Mary, alone in her 
chamber with Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth Curie, 
asks how much money she has left. She pos- 
sessed five thousand crowns, which she separates 
into as many lots as she has servants, proportion- 
ing the sums to their various ranks, functions, 
and wants. These portions she placed in an 
equal number of purses for the following day. 
She then asked for water, and had her feet washed 
by her maids of honor. Afterward she wrote to 
the king of France : 

" I recommend to you my servants once more, 
You will ordain, if it please you, for my soul's 
sake, that I be paid the sum that you owe to me, 
and that for the honor of Jesus Christ, to whom 
I shall pray for you to-morrow at the hour of my 
death, there may be enough to found a mass for 
the repose of my soul, and for the needful alms. 
This Wednesday, at two of the clock after mid- 
night. "M. R." 

She now felt the necessity of repose, and lay 
down on her bed. On her women approaching 
her, she said, "I would have preferred a sword in 
the French manner, rather than this axe." She 
then fell asleep for a short time and even during 
her slumber her lips moved as if in prayer. Her 



LAST HOURS OF MART QUEEN OF SCOTS. 289 

face, as if lighted up from, within with a spiritual 
beatitude, never shone with a beauty so charming 
and so pure. It was illuminated with so sweet a 
ravishment, so bathed in the grace of G-od, that 
she seemed to " smile with the angels," accord- 
ing to the expression of Elizabeth Curie. She 
slept and prayed, praying more than she slept, by 
the light of a little silver lamp given her by 
Henry II., and which she had preserved through 
all her fortunes. This little lamp, Mary's last 
light in her prison, was as the twilight of her 
tomb ; humble implement made tragic by the 
memories it recalls ! 

Awaking before daylight, the queen rose. Her 
first thoughts were for eternity. She looked at 
the clock, and said, " I have only two hours to 
live here below." It was now six o'clock. 

She added a postscript to her letter addressed 
to the King of France, requesting that the in- 
terest of her dowry should be paid after her death 
to her servants ; that their wages and pensions 
should continue during their lives ; that her 
physician (Bourgoin) should be received into the 
service of the king, and that Didier, an old 
officer of her household, might retain the place 
she had given him. She added, " Moreover, that 
my almoner may be restored to his estate, and in 
my favor provided with some small curacy, where 
he may pray God for my soul during the rest of 
his life." The letter was thus subscribed : " Faet 



290 LAST HO UBS OF MAR Y Q JJEEN OF SCOTS. 

le matin de ma mort, ce mercredy, huitiesme Fev- 
rier, 1587. Marie, Royne. Done on this morning 
of my death, this Wednesday, eighth February, 
1587. Mary, Queen." 

A pale winter daybreak illuminated these last 
lines. Mary perceived it, and, calling to her 
Elizabeth Curie and Jane Kennedy, made a sign 
to them to robe her for this last ceremony of 
royalty. While their friendly hands thus ap- 
parelled her, she remained silent. When fully 
dressed she placed herself before one of her two 
large mirrors, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and 
seemed to consider her face with pity. She then 
turned round and said to her maidens: "This 
is the moment to guard against weakness. I re- 
member that in my youth, my uncle Francis said 
to me one day in his house at Meudon, ' My niece, 
there is one mark above all by which I recognize 
you as of my own blood. You are brave as the 
bravest of my men-at-arms, and if women still 
fought as in the old times, I think you w T ould 
know well how to die.' It remains for me to 
show to both friends and enemies from what race 
I have sprung." 

She had asked for her almoner, Preaux ; two 
Protestant ministers were sent to her. "Madam, 
we come to console you," they said, stepping 
over the threshold of her chamber. " Are you 
Catholic priests?" she cried. "No," replied 
they. "Then I will have no comforter, but 



LAST HOURS OF MART QUEEN OF SCOTS. 291 

Jesus," s'le added with a melancholy firmness. 

She now entered her chapel. She had there 
prepared with her own hands an altar, before 
which her almoner sometimes said mass to her 
secretly. There kneeling down, she repeated 
many prayers in a low voice. She was reciting 
the prayers for the dying when a knock at the 
door of her chamber suddenly interrupted her. 
"What do they wish of me?" asked the queen, 
arising. Bourgoin replied from the chamber, 
where he was placed with the other servants, that 
the lords awaited her Majesty. "It is not yet 
time," she replied ; "let them return at the hour 
fixed. ' ' Then throwing herself anew on her knees 
between Elizabeth Curie and Jane Kennedy, she 
melted into tears, and striking her breast gave 
thanks to GJ-od for all, praying to Him fervently 
and with deep sobs that He would support her in 
her last trial. Becoming calmer by degrees, in try- 
ing to calm her two companions, she remained for 
some time in silent and supreme converse with 
her God. 

She then went to the window, looked out upon 
the calm sky, the river, the meadows, the woods. 
Returning to the middle of the chamber and cast- 
ing her eyes toward the time-piece (called la 
Meale), she said to Jane, "The hour has struck, 
they will soon be here." 

Scarcely had she pronounced these words when 
Andrew, sheriff of the county of Northampton, 



292 LAST HO UBS OF MAR T Q UEEN OF SCOTS. 

knocked a second time at the door, and, her 
women drawing back, she mildly commanded 
them to open it. The officer of justice entered, 
dressed in mourning, a white rod in his right 
hand, and, bowing before the queen twice re- 
peated, " I am here." 

A slight blush mounted to the queen's cheeks, 
and, advancing with majesty, she said, "Let 
us go." 

She took with her the ivory crucifix which had 
never left her for seventeen years, and which she 
had carried from cell to cell, suspending it in the 
various chapels of her captivity. As she suffered 
much from pains brought on by the dampness of 
her prisons, she leaned on two of her domestics, 
who led her to the threshold of the chamber. 
There they stopped, and Bourgoin explained to 
the queen the strange scruple of her attendants, 
who desired to avoid the appearance of conduct- 
ing her to slaughter. The queen though she would 
have preferred their support, made allowance for 
their weakness, and was content to lean on two of 
Paulet's guards. Then all her attendants ac- 
companied her to the uppermost flight of stairs, 
where the guards barred their passage in spite of 
their supplications, despair and lamentations, 
with their arms extended toward the dear mistress 
whose footsteps they were hindered from follow- 
ing. 

The queen, deeply pained, slightly quickened 



LAST HO UBS OF MAR T Q UEEN OF SCOTS. 293 

her steps, with the design of protesting against 
this violence and of obtaining a more fitting escort. 

Sir Amyas Paulet and Drew Drury, the gover- 
nor of Fotheringay, the Earl 6i Shrewsbury, the 
Earl of Kent, the other commissioners, and many 
strangers of distinction, among whom where Sir 
Henry Talbot, Edward and William Montague, 
Sir Richard Knightly, Thomas Brudnell Bevil, 
Robert and John Wingfield, received her at the 
bottom of the stair. 

Perceiving Melvil bent down with grief, 4 ' Cour- 
age, my faithful friend," she said; " learn to re- 
sign thyself." " Ah, madam," cried Melvil, ap- 
proaching his mistress and falling at her feet, "I 
have lived too long, since my eyes now see you 
the prey of the executioner, and since my lips 
must tell of this fearful punishment in Scotland." 
Sobs then burst from his breast instead of words. 

"No weakness, my dear Melvil!" she added. 
"Pity those who thirst for my blood, and who 
shed it unjustly. As for me, I make no com- 
plaint. Life is but a valley of tears, and J leave 
it without regret. I die for the Catholic faith, and 
in the Catholic faith; I die the friend of Scotland 
and of France. Bear testimony everywhere to the 
truth. Once more, cease, Melvil, to afflict thyself; 
rather rejoice that the misfortunes of Mary Stuart 
are at an end. Tell my son to remember his 
mother." 

While the queen spoke, Melvil, still on his 



294 LAST EO URS OF MAR Y Q JJEEN OF SCOTS. 

knees, shed a torrent of tears. Mary, having 
raised him up, took his hand, and, leaning for- 
ward, embraced him. "Farewell," she added, 
"farewell, my dear Melvil; never forget me in 
thy heart or thy prayers !" 

Addressing the Earls of Shrewsbury and Kent, 
she then asked that her secretary Cnrle might be 
pardoned. The earls keeping silence, she again 
prayed them to allow her women and servants to 
accompany her, and to be present at her death. 
The Earl of Kent replied that snch a course would 
be unusual, and even dangerous; that the boldest 
would desire to dip their handkerchiefs in her 
blood:' that the most timid, and, above all, the 
women, would at least trouble the course of Eliza- 
beth's justice by their cries. Mary persisted. 
" My lords," said she, "if your queen were here, 
your virgin queen, she would not think it fitting 
for my rank and my sex to die in the midst of 
men only, and would grant me some of my women 
to be beside my hard and last pillow." Her 
words were so eloquent and touching that the 
lords who surrounded her would have yielded to 
her request, but for the obstinacy of the Earl of 
Kent. The queen perceived this, and, looking 
upon the puritan earl, she cried in a deep voice; 

" Shed the blood of Henry VII., but despise it 
not. Am I not still Mary Stuart ? a sister of your 
mistress and her equal: twice crowned; twice 
a queen ; dowager Queen of France; legitimate 



LAST HO URS OF MARY Q TJEEN OF SCOTS. 295 

Queen of Scotland?" The earl was affected, but 
still unyielding. 

Mary, with softer look and accent, then said, 
" My lords, I give you my word that my servants 
will avoid all you fear. Alas ! the poor souls 
will do nothing but take farewell of me; surely 
you will not refuse this sad satisfaction either to 
me or to them ? Think, my lords, of your own 
servants, of those who please you best; the nurses 
who have suckled you; the squires who have 
borne your arms in war; these servants of your 
prosperity are less dear to you than to me are the 
attendants of my misfortunes. Once more, my 
lords, do not send away mine in my last moments. 
They desire nothing but to remain faithful to 
me, to love me to the end, and to see me die." 

The peers, after consultation, agreed to Mary's 
wishes. The Earl of Kent said, however, that he 
was still doubtful of the effect of their lamenta- 
tions on the assistants, and on the queen herself. 

" I will answer for them," Mary replied; their 
love for me will give them strength, and my ex- 
ample will lend them courage. To me it will be 
sweet to know they are there, and that I shall 
have witness of my perseverance in the faith." 

The commissioners did not insist further, and 
granted to the queen four attendants and two of 
her maidens. She chose Melvil her steward, 
Bourgoin her physician, Gervais her surgeon, 
Gosin her druggist, Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth 



296 LAST HO UBS OF MART Q UEEN OF SCOTS. 

Curie, the two companions who had replaced 
Elizabeth Pierrepoint in her heart. Melvil, who 
was present, was called by the queen herself, and 
an usher of Lord Paulet was sent for the others, 
who had remained at the upper balcony of the 
stair, and who now hastened down, happy even 
in their anguish to perform this last duty of de- 
votion and fidelity. 

Appeased by this complaisance on the part 
of the earls, the queen beckoned to the sheriff 
and his followers to advance. She was the first 
to lead the melancholy procession to the scaf- 
fold. 

She arrived in the hall of death. Pale, but 
unflinching, she contemplated the dismal prepara- 
tions. There lay the block and axe. There stood 
the executioner and his assistant. All were 
clothed in mourning. On the floor was scattered 
the sawdust which was to soak her blood, and in 
a dark corner lay the bier which was to be her 
last prison. 

It was nine o'clock when the queen appeared 
in the funeral hall. Fletcher, Dean of Peter- 
borough, and certain privileged persons to the 
number of more than two hundred, were assem- 
bled. The hall was hung with black cloth: the 
scaffold, which was elevated about two feet and 
a half above the ground, was covered with black 
frieze of Lancaster : the arm chair in which Mary 
was to sit, the foot-stool on which she was to kneel, 



LAST HO UBS OF MARY Q UEEN OF SCOTS. 297 

the block on which her head was to be laid, were 
covered with black velvet. 

The Queen was clothed in mourning like the 
hall and as the ensigns of punishment. Her black 
velvet robe, with its high collar and hanging 
sleeves, was bordered with ermine. Her mantle, 
lined with marten sable, was of satin, with pearl 
buttons and a long train. A chain of sweet-smell- 
ing beads, to which were attached a scapulary, 
and beneath that a golden cross, fell upon her 
bosom. Two rosaries were suspended to her girdle, 
and a long veil of white lace, which, in some 
measure, softened this costume of a widow and 
of n condemned criminal, was thrown around 
her. 

She was preceded by the sheriff, by Drury and 
Paulet, the earls and nobles of England, and fol- 
lowed by her two maidens and four officers, 
among whom was remarked Melvil, bearing the 
train of the royal robe. Mary's walk was firm 
and majestic. For a single moment she raised her 
veil, and her face, on which shone a hope no longer 
of this world, seemed beautiful as in the days 
of her youth. The whole assembly were deeply 
moved. In one hand she held a crucifix and in 
the other one of her chaplets. 

The Earl of Kent rudely addressed her, " We 
should wear Christ in our hearts." 

" And wherefore," she replied quickly, " should 
I have Christ in my hand if He were not in my 



298 LAST HO UBS OF MARY Q UEEN OF SCOTS. 

"heart?" Paulet assisting her to mount the scaf- 
fold, she threw upon him a look full of sweetness. 

" Sir Amy as," she said, " I thank you for your 
courtesy ; it is the last trouble I will give you, 
and the most agreeable service you can render 
me." 

Arrived on the scaffold, Mary seated herself in 
the chair provided for her, with her face towards 
the spectators. The Dean of Peterborough, in 
ecclesiastical costume, sat on the right of the 
queen, with a black velvet foot- stool before him. 
The Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury were seated 
like him on the right, but upon larger chairs. On 
the other 'side of the queen stood the sheriff, 
Andrews, with white wand. In front of Mary 
were seen the executioner and his assistant, dis- 
tinguishable by their vestments of black velvet, 
with red crape round the left arm. Behind the 
Queen's chair, ranged by the wall, wept her at- 
tendants and maidens. In the body of the hall 
the nobles and citizens from the neighboring coun- 
ties were guarded by the musketeers of Sir Amyas 
Paulet and Sir Drew Drury. Beyond the balus- 
trade was the bar of the tribunal. The sentence 
was read ; the queen protested against it in the 
name of royalty and innocence, but accepted death 
for the sake of the faith. 

She then knelt down before the block, and the 
executioner proceeded to remove her veil. She 
repelled him by a gesture, and turning toward 



LAST HOURS OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS. 299 

the earls with ablush on her forehead, "I am 
not accustomed," she said, "to be undressed 
before so numerous a company, and by the hands 
of such grooms of the chamber." 

She then called Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth 
Curie, who took off her mantle, her veil, her chains, 
cross, and scapulary . On their tou ching her robe, 
the queen told them to unloose the corsage and 
fold down the ermine collar, so as to leave her 
neck bare for the axe. Her maidens weepingly 
yielded her these last services. Melvil and the 
three other attendants wept and lamented, and 
Mary placed her, finger on her lips to signify that 
they should be silent. 

" My friends," she cried, " I have answered for 
you, do not melt me ; ought you not rather to 
praise God for having inspired your mistress with 
courage and resignation?" Yielding, however, 
in her turn to her own sensibility, she warmly 
embraced her maidens ; then pressing them to 
descend from the scaffold, where they both clung 
to her dress, with hands bathed in their tears, 
she addressed to them a tender blessing and a 
last farewell. Melvil and his companions re- 
mained, as if choked with grief, at a short dis- 
tance from the queen. Overcome by her accents, 
the executioners themselves besought her on their 
knees to pardon them. 

"I pardon you," she said, "after the example 
of my Redeemer." 



300 LASTHOUBS OF MART QUEEN OF SCOTS. 

She then arranged the handkerchief embroidered 
with thistles of gold, with which her eyes had 
been covered by Jane Kennedy. Thrice she 
kissed the crucifix, each time repeating, "Lord, 
into Thy hands I commend my spirit." She knelt 
anew, and leaned her head on that block which 
was already scored with deep marks ; and in this 
solemn attitude she again recited some verses 
from the psalms. The executioner interrupt- 
ed her at the third verse by a blow of the axe, 
but its trembling stroke only grazed her neck; 
she groaned slightly, and the second blow sep- 
arated the head from the body. The executioner 
held it up at the window, within sight of all, pro- 
claiming aloud, according to usage, " So perish 
the enemies of our queen !" 

The queen's maids of honor and attendants en- 
shrouded the body, and claimed it, in order that 
it should be sent to France; but these relics of their 
tenderness and faith were pitilessly refused. 

Elizabeth, having thus mercilessly sacrificed 
the life of her whom she had so long and so un- 
justly retained in hopeless captivity, now added 
the most flagrant duplicity to her cruelty. Deny- 
ing, with many oaths, all intention of having 
her own warrant carried into execution, she at- 
tempted to throw the entire odium on those who 
in reality had acted as her blind and devoted 
agents. This policy of the English queen was 
unsuccessful, however; posterity has with clear 



THE SISTER OF CHARITY. 301 

voice proclaimed her guilty of the blood of her 
royal sister, and the sanguinary stain will ever 
remain ineffaceable from the character of that 
sovereign. — Lamartine. 



THE SISTEH OF CHARITY. 

Sister of Charity, gentle and dutiful, 

Loving as seraphim, tender, and mild, 
In humbleness strong, and in purity beautiful, 

In spirit heroic, in manners a child, 
Ever thy love like an angel reposes, 

With hovering wings o'er the sufferer here, 
Till the arrows of death are half -hidden in roses, 

And hope-speaking prophecy smiles on the 
bier. 

When life, like a vapor, is slowly retiring, 

As clouds in the dawning to heav'n uprolled, 
Thy prayer, like a herald, precedes him expiring, 

And the cross on thy bosom his last looks behold; 
And O ! as the Spouse to thy words of love listens, 

What hundredfold blessings descend on thee 
then— 
Thus the flower- absorbed dew in the bright iris 
glistens, 

And returns to the lilies more richly again. 



302 THE SISTER OF CHARITY. 

Sister of Charity, child of the Holiest, 

O for thy living soul, ardent as pure- 
Mother of orphans and friend of the lowliest- 
Stay of the wretched, the guilty, the poor ; 
The embrace of the Grodhead so plainly enfolds 
thee, 
Sanctity's halo so shrines thee around, 
Daring the eye that unshrinking beholds thee, 
JSTor droops in thy presence abashed to the 
ground. 

Dim is the fire of the sunniest blushes, 

Burning the breast of the maidenly rose, 
To the exquisite bloom that thy pale beauty 
flushes, 
When the incense ascends and the sanctuary 
glows ; 
And the music, that seems heaven's language, is 
pealing — 
Adoration has bowed him in silence and sighs, 
And man, intermingled with angels, is feeling 
The passionless rapture that comes from the 
skies. 

O that this heart, whose unspeakable treasure 
Of love hath been wasted so vainly on clay, 

Like thine, unallured by the phantom of pleasure, 
Could rend every earthly affection away ! 

And yet, in thy presence, the billows subsiding 
Obey the strong effort of reason and will, 



THE SISTER OF CHARITY. 303 

And my soul, in her pristine tranquillity gliding, 
Is calm as when God bade the ocean be still. 

Thy soothing, how gentle ! thy pity, how tender 

Choir- music thy voice is — thy step angel-grace, 
And thy union with Deity shrines in a splendor 

Subdued, but unearthly, thy spiritual lace. 
When the frail chains are broken, a captive that 
bound thee 

Afar from thy home in the prison of clay, 
Bride of the Lamb, and earth's shadows around 
thee 

Disperse in the blaze of eternity's day, 

Still mindful, as now, of the sufferer's story, 

Arresting the thunders of wrath ere they roll, 
Intervene as a cloud between us and His glory, 
And shield from His lightnings the shuddering 
soul. 
As mild as the moonbeam in autumn descending 
That lightning, extinguished by mercy, shall 
fall, 
While He hears with the wail of a penitent blend- 
ing 
Thy prayer, holy Daughter of Vincent de Paul. 
. — B. D. Williams. 



304 OLD IRELAND. 



OLD IRELAND. 



I see her through the mist of memory ; I see 
her with the mists of ocean resting on her hills ; 
I hear, as afar off, the eternal music of the waves 
around her coast ; I hear in her valleys and her 
caves the songs of the winds soft as the sounds 
of harps ; I recall her in many a vision of lonely 
beauty, brightened by the sunshine on river, lake, 
and dell ; in many a vision too of sombre glory, 
in the battle of the tempests against her moun- 
tain summits and her rock-bound shores. I bring 
her national life back to my memory in heroic 
story, in saintly legend, in tales passionate and 
wild, in the grand old poetry of the supernatural 
and solemn imagination, which people love to 
whose spirits the souls of the immortal whisper, 
on whose ears there linger the voices of the mighty 
past. I bring her domestic life back to my heart, 
in her gracious old affections which so sweeten 
earthly care, in her gracious old phrases into 
which these old affections breathe ; for never did 
fondness deepen into richer melody of love than 
in " Cushla machree ;" and never did the wel- 
come of hospitality sound in more generous elo- 
quence than in that of " Cead mille failthe." 
All these come back to me through the spaces 
of years ; and my heart answers to them with 



THE MOTHER OF THE KINGS. 305 

"Erin mavourneen." If I forget thee, Ireland 
let my right hand forget its cunning \ if ever I do 
not speak of thee lovingly and reverently, let my 
tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth. 

— Henry Giles. 



THE MOTHER OF THE KINGS 

["I immediately followed Mademoiselle Rose into the cham- 
ber and was introduced to the mother of Napoleon. Madam 
Lsetitia was at that time eighty-three years of age, and never did 
I see a person so advanced in life with a brow and countenance 
so beaming with expression and undiminished intelligence ; the 
quietness and brilliancy of her large sparkling eye was most re- 
markable. She was laid on a snow-white bed in one corner of 
the room ; to which she told me she had been confined for three 
years, having as long as that ago had the misfortune to break 
her leg. The room was completely hung round with pictures, 
large full-length portraits of her family, which covered every 
portion of the wall. All those of her sons who had attained 
to the regal dignity were represented in their royal robes; Na- 
poleon, I believe, in the gorgeous apparel he wore at his coron- 
ation. * * * * She then, seeing us looking earnestly at the 
magnificent picture of Napoleon, which was hung close to the 
side of her bed, asked, if we did not admire it, gazing herself 
at it proudly and fondly, and saying in French, ' That resembles 
the Emperor much: yes, how like him it is!" I could not 
help feeling that she must exist as it were in a world of dreams, 
in a world of her own, or rather of memory's creation, with all 
these splendid shadows around her, that silently but eloquently 
spoke of the days departed."— Lady Emeline Stuart Wortley's 



306 THE MOTHER OF THE KINGS. 

Visit to Madam Lostitia, Mother of Napoleon, in The Keepsake" 
for 1837 ] 

It was the noon of a Roman day that lit with 

mellow gloom, 
Through marble-shafted windows deep, a grandly 

solemn room, 
Where, shadowed o'er with canopy, and pillowed 

upon down, 
An aged woman lay unwatched — like perishing 

renown. 

!No crowned one she ; though, in the pale and 
venerable grace 

Of lier worn cheek and lofty brow, might obser- 
vation trace — 

And in her dark eye's flash — a fire and energy 
to give 

Life unto sons, whose sceptre-swords should van- 
quish all that live. 

Strange looked that lady old, reclined upon her 

lonely bed 
In that vast chamber, echoing not to page or 

maiden's tread; 
And stranger still the gorgeous forms, in portrait, 

that glanced round 
From the high walls, with cold bright looks more 

eloquent than sound. 

They were her children. Never yet, since, with 
the primal beam, 



THE MOTHER OF THE KINGS. 307 

Fair Tainting brought on rainbow wings its own 

immortal dream, 
Did one fond mother give such race beneath its 

smile to glow, 
As they who now back on her brow theirpictured 

glories throw. 

Her daughters there— the beautiful! — look' d down 
in dazzling sheen ; 

One lovelier than the Queen of Love — one crown' d 
an earthly queen ! 

Her sons — the proud — the Paladins ! with dia- 
dem and plume, 

Each leaning on his sceptred arm, made empire 
of that room ! 

But right before her couch's foot, one mightest 

picture blazed — 
One august form, to which her eyes incessantly 

were raised ; — 
A monarch's, too! — and, monarch- like, the 

artist's hand had bound him, 
With jewell'dbelt, imperial sword, and ermin'd 

purple round him. 

One well might deem from the white flags that 

o'er him flashed and rolled, 
Where the puissant lily laughed and waved its 

bannered gold, 
And from the Lombard's iron crown beneath his 

hand which lay, 



308 THE MOTHER OF THE KINGS. 

That Charlemagne had burst death's reign and 
leaped again to day ' 

How gleamed that awful countenance, magnificent- 
ly stern ! 

In its dark smile and smiting look, what destiny 
we learn! — 

The laurel simply wreathes that brow, while 
nations watch its nod, 

As though he scoff' d all pomp below the thunder- 
bolts of God. 

Such was the scene — the noontide hour — which, 

after many a year 
Had swept above the memory of his meteor-like 

career — 
Saw the mother of the mightiest — Napoleon's 

Mother — lie 
With the living dead around her, with the past 

before her eye ! 

She saw her son — of whom the Seer in Patmos 

bare record — 
Who broke one seal — one vial poured — wild angel 

of the Lord! 
She saw him shadow earth beneath the terrors of 

his face, 
And lived and knew that the hoarse sea-mew 

wailed o' er his burial place. 

Yet was she not forgotten : — from every land and 
wave, 



THE MOTHER OF THE KINGS. 309 

The noble and free-hearted all, the graceful and 

the brave 
Passed not her halls unnoticed, but, lingering, 

claimed to pay 
The tribute of their chastened hearts to glory in 

decay. 

And England's gentle daughter, In that deserted 

hour, 
Though greatness was thy handmaiden, and 

genius was thy dower, 
Thou didst not scorn to come in youth and beauty 

to assuage, 
Albeit foi one bright moment brief, that woman s 

lonely age. 

"I am alone!" she still exclaimed — and haply 

thou didst say 
How much our human sympathies were with her 

far away ; 
How much one spirit mourn' d with hers, let this 

wild strain impart, 
Offered in homage, Lady, to thy good and gifted 

heart. — B. Simmons. 



310 THE SEVEN SLEEPERS OF EPHESUS. 



THE SEVEN SLEEPERS OF EPHESUS. 

During the persecution under the Emperor 
Deems, there lived in the city of Ephesus seven 
young men, who were Christians : their names 
were Maximian, Malcus, Marcian, Dionysius, 
John, Serapion, and Constantine ; and as they 
refused to offer sacrifice to the idols, they were 
accused before the tribunal. But they fled and 
escaped to Mount Coelian, where they hid them 
selves in a cave. Being discovered, the tyrant; 
ordered that they should roll great stones to 
the mouth of the cavern, in order that they might 
die of hunger They, embracing each other, fell 
asleep 

And it came to pass in the thirtieth year of the 
reign of the Emperor Theodosius, that there broke 
out that dangerous heresy which denied the resur- 
rection of the dead. The pious Emperor, being 
greatly afflicted, retired to the interior of his 
palace, putting on sackcloth, and covering his 
head with ashes : therefore, God took pity on 
him, and restored his faith by bringing back 
these just men to life — which came to pass in this 
manner : 

A certain inhabitant of Ephesus, repairing to 
the top of Mount Coelian to build a stable for his 
cattle, discovered the cavern ; and when the light 
penetrated therein, the sleepers awoke, believing 



THE SEVEN SLEEPERS OF EPHESUS. 311 

that their slumbers had only lasted for a single 
night. They rose up, and Malchus, one of the 
number, was dispatched to the city to purchase 
food. He, advancing cautiously and fearfully, 
beheld to his astonishment the image of the cross 
surmounting the city gate. He went to another 
gate, and there he found another cross. He 
rubbed his eyes, believing himself still asleep, or 
in a dream ; and entering the city, he heard 
everywhere the name of Christ pronounced 
openly : and he was more and more confounded. 

When he repaired to the baker's, he offered in 
payment an ancient coin of the time of the Em- 
peror Decius, and they looked at him with as- 
tonishment, thinking that he had found a hidden 
treasure And when they accused him, he knew 
not what to reply Seeing his confusion, they 
bound him and dragged him through the streets 
with contumely ; and he looked round, seeking 
some one whom he knew, but not a face in all the 
crowd was familiar to him 

Being brought before the bishop, the truth was 
disclosed, to the great amazement of all. The 
bishop, the governor, and the principal inhabitants 
of the city, followed him to the entrance of the 
cavern, where the other six youths were found. 
Their faces had the freshness of roses, and the 
brightness of a holy light was around them. 
Theodosius himself, being informed of this great 
wonder, hastened to the cavern ; and one of the 



312 THE SEVEN SLEEPERS OF EPHESUS 

sleepers said to him, "Believe us, Emperor ! 
for we have been raised before the Day of Judg- 
ment, in order that thou mightest trust in the 
Resurrection of the Dead!'' And having said 
this, they bowed their heads and gave up their 
spirits to God. They had slept in their cavern 
for 196 years. 

Gibbon, in quoting this tradition, observes that 
it may be traced to within half a century of the 
date of the miracle. About the end of the sixth 
century, it was translated from the Syriac into the 
Latin, and was spread over the whole of west- 
ern Christendom. Nor was it confined to the 
Christian world. Mahomet has introduced it, as 
a divine revelation, into the Koran. It has pen- 
etrated into Abyssinia. It has been found in 
Scandinavia ; — in fact, in the remotest regions of 
the Old World this singular tradition, in one 
form or another, appears to have been known 
and accepted. 

The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, extended in 
their cave side by side, occur perpetually in the 
miniatures, ancient sculptures, and stained glass 
of the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Thus 
they are represented in the frieze of the chapel 
of Edward the Confessor, at Westminster. In 
general the name of each is written overhead. 

— Mrs. Jameson. 



LAMENT OF THE IRISH MOTHER. 313 

LAMENT OF THE IRISH MOTHER. 
O ! why did you go when the flowers were spring- 
ing, 
And winter's wild tempests had vanished away, 
When the swallow was come, and the sweet lark 
was singing, 
From the morn to the eve of the beautiful day % 
O ! why did you go when the summer was com- 
ing, 
And the heaven was blue as your own sunny 
eye; 
When the bee on the blossom was drowsily hum- 
ming — 
Mavourneen ! mawurneen! O why did you 
die? 

My hot tears are falling in agony o'er you, 

My heart was bound up in the life that is gone , 
O ! why did you go from the mother that bore 
you, 
Achora, macusMa ! why leave me alone \ 
The primrose each hedgerow and dingle is stud- 
ding; 
The violet's breath is on each breeze's sigh, 
And the woodbine you loved round your window 
is budding — 
O ! Maura, mawurneen /* why, why, did you 
die? 

*A11 these Irish words are terms of endearment,— these two mean,—" Mary, 
<ny dearest." 



314 LAMENT OF THE IRISH MOTHER. 

The harebell is missing your step on the moun- 
tain, 
The sweetbrier droops for the hand that it loved, 
And the hazel's pale tassels hang over the foun- 
tain 
That springs in the copse where so often you 
roved. 
The hawthorn's pearls fall as though they were 
weeping, 
Upon the low grave where your cold form doth 
lie, 
And the soft dews of evening there longest lie 
sleeping — 
Mavourneen! mavourneen! O why did you 
die? 

The meadows are white with the low daisy's 
flower, 
And the long grass bends glistening like waves 
in the sun; 
And from his green nest, in the ivy-grown tower, 
The sweet robin sings till the long day is done. 
On, on to the sea, the bright river is flowing, 

There is not a stain in the vault of the sky; 
But the flowers on your grave In the radiance are 
glowing — 
Your eyes cannot see them. ! why did you 
die? 

Mavourneen, I was not alone in my sorrow, 



LAMENT OF THE IRISH MOTHER. 315 

But he whom you loved has soon followed his 
bride; 
His young heart could break with its grief, and 
to-morrow 
They'll lay him to rest in the grave by your 
side. 
My darling, my darling, the judgment alighted 
Upon the young branches, the blooming and 
fair; 
But the dry leafless stem which the lightning hath 
blighted 
Stands lonely and dark in the sweet summer 
air. 

When the bright silent stars through my window 
are beaming, 
I dream in my madness that you're at my side, 
With your long gold en curls on your white shoul- 
ders streaming, 
And the smile that came warm from your loving 
heart's tide, 
I hear your sweet voice fitful melodies singing; 
I wake but to hear the low wind's whispered 
sigh, 
And your vanishing tones through my silent home 
ringing, 
As I cry in my anguish — ! why did you die % 

Achora, macJiree, you are ever belore me — 
I scarce see the heaven 10 which you are gone 



316 THE RELIGIO US HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 

So dark are the clouds of despair which lie o'er 
me, 

pray for me ! pray at the Almighty's throne ! 
pray that the chain of my bondage may sever, 

That to thee and our Father my freed soul may 

fly, 

Or the cry of my spirit for ever and ever 
Shall be — "0 mavourneen! why, why did 
you die? —Tiny. 



THE RELIGIOUS HISTORY OF ENGLAND 

Time was when the forefathers of our race were 
a savage tribe inhabiting a wild district beyond 
the limits of this quarter of the earth. Whatever 
brought them thither, they had no local attach- 
ments there or political settlement ; they were a 
restless people, and whether urged forward by 
enemies or by desire of plunder, they left their 
place, and passing through the defiles of the 
mountains on the frontiers of Asia, they invaded 
Europe, setting out on a journey towards the far- 
ther West. Generation after generation passed 
away, and still this fierce and haughty race moved 
forward. On, on they went ; but travel availed 
them not ; the change of place could bring them 
no truth, or peace, or hope, or stability of heart , 
they could not flee from themselves. They 



THE RELIG10 US HISTOR T OF ENGLAND. 317 

carried with them their sux>erstitions and their 
sins, their gods of iron and of clay, their savage 
sacrifices, their lawless witchcrafts, their hatred 
of their kind, and their ignorance of their destiny. 
At length they buried themselves in the deep 
forests of Germany, and gave themselves up to 
indolent repose ; but they had not found their 
rest ; they were still heathens, making the fair 
trees, the primeval work of God. and the innocent 
beasts of the chase, the objects and the instru- 
ments of their idolatrous worship. And, last of 
all, they crossed over the strait and made them- 
selves masters of this island, and gave their very 
name to it ; so that, whereas, it had hitherto been 
called Britain, the sou thern part, which was their 
main seat, obtained the name of England. And 
now they had proceeded forward nearly as far as 
they could go, unless they were prepared to look 
across the great ocean, and anticipate the dis- 
covery of the world which lies beyond it. 

What, then, was to happen to this restless race, 
which had sought for happiness and peace across 
the globe, and had not found it ? Was it to grow 
old in its place, and dwindle away and consume 
in the fever of its own heart, which admitted no 
remedy ? Or was it to become great by being 
overcome, and to enjoy the only real life of man, 
and rise to his only true dignity, by being sub- 
jected to a Master's yoke? Did its Maker and 
Lord see any good thing in it, of which, under 



318 THE RELIGIO US HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 

His divine nature, profit might come to His elect 
and glory to His name \ He looked upon it, and 
He saw nothing there to claim any visitation of 
His grace, or to merit any relaxation of the awful 
penalty which its lawlessness and impiety had 
incurred. It was a proud race, which feared 
neither God nor man — a race ambitious, self- 
willed, obstinate, and hard of belief, which would 
dare everything, even the eternal pit, if it was 
challenged to do so. I say, there was nothing 
there of a nature to reverse the destiny which His 
righteous decrees have assigned to those who sin 
wilfully and despise Him. But the Almighty 
Lover of souls looked once again ; and He- saw in 
that poor, forlorn, and ruined nature, which He 
had in the beginning filled with grace and light, 
He saw in it, not what merited His favor, not 
what would adequately respond to His influence, 
not what was a necessary instrument of His pur- 
poses, but what would illustrate and preach abroad 
His grace, if He took pity on it. He saw in it a 
natural nobleness, a simplicity, a frankness of 
character, a love of truth, a zeal for justice, an in- 
dignation at wrong, an admiration of purity, a 
reverence for law, a keen appreciation of the 
beautifulness and majesty of order, nay, further, 
a tenderness and an affectionateness of heart, 
which He knew would become the glorious instru- 
ments of His high will, when illuminated and 
vivified by His supernatural gifts. And so He 



THE REL1GI0 US HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 319 

who, did it so please Him, could raise up children 
to Abraham out of the very stones of the earth, 
nevertheless determined in this instance in His 
free mercy to unite what was beautiful in nature 
with what was radiant in grace ; and, as if those 
poor Anglo-Saxons had been too fair to be hea- 
then, therefore did He rescue them from the devil's 
service and the devil's doom, and bring them into 
the house of His holiness and the mountain of 
His rest. 

It is an old story, and a familiar, and I need 
not to go through it. I need not tell you, how sud- 
denly the word of truth came to our ancestors in 
this island and subdued them to its gentle rule ; 
how the grace of God fell on them, and, without 
compulsion, as the historian tells us, the multi- 
tude became Christian ; how, when all was tem- 
pestuous, and hopeless, and dark, Christ like a 
vision of glory came walking to them on the 
waves of the sea. Then suddenly there was a 
great calm ; a change came over the pagan people 
in that quarter of the country where the gospel 
was first preached to them ; and from thence the 
blessed influence went forth ; it was poured out 
over the whole land, till, one and all, the Anglo- 
Saxon people were converted by it. In a hun- 
dred yeais the work was done ; the idols, the 
sacrifices, the mummeries of paganism flitted away 
and were not, and the pure doctrine and heav- 
enly worship of the Cross were found in their 



: 320 THE BELIOIO US HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 

stead. The fair form of Christianity rose np and 
.grew and expanded like a beautiful x>ageant from 
north to south ; it was majestic, it was solemn, it 
was bright, it was beautiful and pleasant, it was 
soothing to the griefs, it was indulgent to the 
hopes of man ; it was at once a teaching and a 
worship ; it had a dogma, a mystery, a ritual of 
its own ; it had an hierarchical form. A brother 
hood of holy pastors, with mitre and crosier and 
uplifted hand, walked forth and blessed and ruled 
*a joyful people. The crucifix headed the pro- 
fession, and simple monks were there with hearts 
in prayer, and sweet chants resounded, and the 
holy Latin tongue was heard, and boys came forth 
"in white, swinging censers, and the fragrant cloud 
•arose, and Mass was sung, and the saints were 
invoked ; and day after day, and in the still night, 
;and over the woody hills, and in the quiet plains, 
:as constantly as sun and moon and stars go forth 
»in heaven, so regular and solemn was the stately 
march of blessed services on earth, high festival, 
and gorgeous procession, and soothing dirge, and 
passing bell, and the familiar evening call to 
prayer : till he who recollected the old pagan 
time, would think it all unreal that he beheld and 
heard, and would conclude he did but see a vision, 
so marvellously was heaven let down upon earth, 
so triumphantly were chased away the fiends of 
darkness to their prison below. 
Such was the change which came over our fore- 



THE RELIOIO US HISTOR T OF ENGLAND 321 

fathers ; such was the Religion bestowed upon 
them, bestowed on them, as a second grant, after 
the grant of the territory itself ; nay, it might al- 
most have seemed as the divine guarantee or 
pledge of its occupation. And you know its 
name ; there can be no mistake ; you know what 
that Religion was called. It was called by no 
modern name — for modern religions then were 
not> You know what Religion has priests and 
sacrifices, and mystical rites, and the monastic 
ruje, and care for the souls of the dead, and the 
profession of an ancient faith, coming, through 
all ages, from the Apostles. There is one, and 
only one religion such : it is known every where ; 
every poor boy in the street knows the name of 
it ; there never was a time, since it first was, that 
its name was not known, and known to the mul- 
titude. It is called Catholicism — a world-wide 
name, and incommunicable ; attached to us from 
the first ; accorded to us by our enemies ; in vain 
attempted, never stolen from us, by our rivals. 
Such was the worship which the English people 
gained when they emerged out of paganism into 
gospel light. In the history of their conversion, 
Christianity and Catholicism are one ; they are 
in that history, as they are in their own nature, 
convertible terms. It was the Catholic faith 
which that vigorous young race heard and em- 
braced — that faith which is still found, the 
further you trace back toward the Apostles, 



322 TEE RELIGIO US EISTOR Y OF ENGLAND. 

which is still visible in the dim distance of the 
earliest antiquity, and to which the witness of the 
Church, when investigated even in her first start- 
ings and simplest rudiments, "sayeth not to the 
contrary." Such was the religion of the noble 
English ; they knew not heresy ; and, as time 
went on, the work did but sink deeper and deeper 
into their nature, into their social structure and 
their political institutions ; it grew with their 
growth, and strengthened with their strength, till 
a sight was seen — one of the most beautiful which 
ever has been given to man to see — what was great 
in the natural order made greater by its elevation 
into the supernatural. The two seemed as if 
made for each other ; that natural temperament 
and that gift of grace ; what was heroic, or gen- 
erous, or magnanimous in nature, found its cor- 
responding place or office in the divine kingdom. 
Angels in heaven rejoiced to see the divinely 
wrought piety and sanctity of penitent sinners : 
Apostles, Popes, and Bishops, long since taken 
to glory, threw their crowns in transport at the 
foot of the throne, as saints, and confessors, and 
martyrs came forth before their wondering eyes 
out of a horde of heathen robbers ; guardian 
spirits no longer sighed over the disparity and 
contrast which had so fearfully intervened be- 
tween themselves and the souls given to them in 
charge. It did indeed become a peculiar, special 
people, with a character and genius of its own ; 



THE BELIGIO US HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 323 

I will say a bold thing— in its staidness, sagacity, 
and simplicity, more like the mind that rules, 
through all time, the princely line of Roman Pon- 
tiffs, than perhaps any other Christian people 
whom the world has seen. And so things went 
on for many centuries. Generation followed gen- 
eration; revolution came after revolution; great 
men rose and fell; there were bloody wars, and 
invasions, conquests, changes of dynasty, slavery, 
recoveries, civil dissensions, settlements ; Dane 
and Norman over- ran the land ; and yet all along 
Christ was upon the waters ; and if they rose in 
fury, yet at His word they fell again and were in 
calm. The bark of Peter was still the refuge of 
the tempest- tost, and ever solaced and recruited 
those whom it rescued from the deep. 

But at length a change came over the land ; a 
thousand years had well-nigh rolled, and this 
great people grew tired of the heavenly stranger 
who sojourned among them. They had had 
enough of blessings and absolutions, enough of 
the intercession of saints, enough of the grace of 
the sacraments, enough of the prospect of the next 
life. They thought it best to secure this life in 
the first place, because they were in possession of 
it, and then to go on to the next, if time and 
means allowed. And they saw that to labor for 
the next world was possibly to lose this ; whereas, 
to labor for this world might be, for what they 
knew, the way to labor for the next also. Any 



324 THE RELIGIO US H1ST0R Y OF ENGLAND. 

how, they would pursue a temporal end, and they 
would account any one their enemy who stood in 
the way of their pursuing it. It was a madness ; 
but madmen are strong and madmen are clever ; 
so with the sword and the halter, and by mutila- 
tion and fine and imprisonment, they cut off, or 
frightened away from the land, as Israel did in the 
time of old, the ministers of the Most High, and 
their ministrations ; they "altogether broke the 
yoke, and burst the bonds. " " They beat one, and 
killed another, and another they stoned," and at 
length they altogether cast out the Heir from His 
vineyard, and killed Him, •' that the inheritance 
might be theirs." And as for the remnant of His 
servants whom they left, they drove them into 
corners and holes of the earth, and there they 
bade them die out; and then they rejoiced and 
sent gifts either to other, and made merry, be- 
cause they had rid themselves of those u who had 
tormented them that dwelt upon the earth." 
And so they turned to enjoy this world, and to gain 
for themselves a name among men, and it was given 
unto them according to their wish. They preferred 
the heathen virtues of their original nature to the 
robe of grace which God had given them ; they fell 
back with closed affections, and haughty reserve, 
and dreariness within, upon their worldly integ- 
rity, honor, energy, prudence, and perseverance ; 
they made the most of the natural man, and they 
' ' received their reward. ' ' Forthwith they began 



THE RELIGIO US HISTOR Y OF ENGLAND. 325 

to rise to a station higher than the heathen 
Roman, and have, in three centuries, attained a 
wider range of sovereignty ; and now they look 
down in contempt on what they were, and upon 
the Religion which reclaimed them from pagan- 
ism. 

Yes, such was the temptation of the evil one, such 
the fall of his victim, such the disposition of the 
Most High. The tempter said : U A11 these will 
I give thee, if, falling down, thou wilt adore me ;" 
and their rightful Lord and Sovereign permitted 
the boast to be fulfilled. He permitted it for His 
greater glory ; He might have hindered it, as He 
might hinder all evil ; but He saw good, He saw 
it best, to let things take their course. He did 
not interfere, He kept silence, He retired from 
the land which would be rid of Him. And there 
were those at that crisis who understood not His 
providence, and would have interfered in His 
behalf with a high hand. Holy men and true 
they were, zealous for God, and tender towards 
His sheep ; but they divined not His will. It was 
His will to leave the issue to time, and to bring 
things round slowly and without violence, and to 
conquer by means of His adversaries. He willed 
that their pride should be its own correction ; 
that they should be broken without hands, and 
dissolve under their own insufficiency. He who 
might have brought myriads of angels to the 
rescue, He who might have armed and blessed the 



326 THE RELIGIOUS HISTORY OF ENGLAND, 

forces of Christendom against His persecutors, 
wrought more wondrously. He deigned not to 
use the carnal weapon ; He bade the drawn sword 
return to its sheath ; He refused the combinations 
and the armaments of earthly kings. He who 
sees the end from the beginning, who is " justified 
in His works, and overcomes when He is judged," 
did but wait. He waited patiently ; He left the 
world to itself, nor avenged his Church, but 
stayed till the fourth watch of the night, when 
His faithful sons had given up hope, and thought 
His mercy towards them at the end. He let the 
winds and the waves insult Him and His own; He 
suffered meekly the jeers and blasphemies which 
rose on every side, and pronounced the downfall 
of his work. " All things have an end," men 
said ; " there is a time for ail things, a time to 
be born, and a time to die." All things have their 
course and their term ; they may last a long time, 
but after all, a period they have and not an immor- 
tality. So it is with man himself ; even Mathusela 
and Noe exhausted the full fountain of their being, 
and the pitcher was at length crushed, and the 
wheel broken. So is it with nations, they rise, 
and they nourish, and they fall ; there is an ele- 
ment in them, as in individuals, which wears out 
and perishes. However great they may be in their 
day, at length the moment comes, when they have 
attained their greatest elevation, and accom- 
plished their full range, and fulfilled their scope. 



THE RELIGIOUS HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 327 

So it is with great ideas and their manifestations; 
they are realized, they prevail, and they perish. 
As the constituents of the animal frame at length 
refuse to hold together, so nations, philosophies, 
and religions one day lose the unity and undergo 
the common law of decomposition. Our nation, 
doubtless, will find its term at length, as well as 
others, though not yet ; but that ancient faith of 
ours is come to naught already. We have nothing, 
then, to fear from the past ; the past is not, the 
past cannot revive ; the dead tell no tales ; the 
grave cannot open. New adversaries we may 
have, but with the Old Religion we have parted 
once for all." 

Thus speaks the world, deeming Christ's pa- 
tience to be feebleness, and His loving affection 
to be enmity. And the faithful, on the other 
hand, have had their own misgivings too, whether 
Catholicism could ever flourish in this country 
again. Has it yet happened anywhere in the 
history of the Church, that a people which once 
lost its faith ever regained it \ It is a gift of grace, 
a special mercy to receive it once, and not to be 
expected a second time. Many nations have 
never had it at all ; from some it has been taken 
away, apparently without their fault, nay, in 
spite of their meritorious use of it. So was it 
with the old Persian Church which, after endur- 
ing two frightful persecutions, had scarcely em- 
erged from the second when it was irretrievably 



328 THE REL1GI0 US HISTOR T OF ENGLAND. 

corrupted by heresy. So was it with the famous 
Church of Africa, whose great saint and doctor's 
dying moments were embittered by the ravages 
around him of those fierce barbarians who were 
destined to be its ruin. What are we better than 
they \ It is then surely against the order of Provi- 
dence hitherto, that the gift once given should be 
given again ; the world and the Church bear a 
concordant testimony here. 

And the just judge of man made as though He 
would do what man anticipated. He retired, as 
I have said, from the field ; He yielded the battle 
to the enemy , — but He did so that He might in 
the event more signally triumph. He interfered 
not for near three hundred years, that his ene- 
mies might try their powers of mind in forming 
a religion instead of His own. He gave them 
three hundred years' start, bidding them to do 
something better than He, or something at all, if 
so be they were able, and He put Himself to 
every disadvantage. He suffered the daily sac- 
rifice to be suspended, the hierarchy to be driven 
out, education to be prohibited, religious houses 
to be plundered and suppressed, cathedrals to be 
desecrated, shrines to be rifled, religious rites and 
duties to be interdicted by the law of the land. 
He would owe the world nothing in that revival 
of the Church which was to follow. He wrought, 
as in the old time by His prophet Elias, who, when 
he was to light the sacrifice with fire from heaven, 



THE REL1GI0 US HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 329 

drenched the burnt- offering with water the first 
time, the second time, and the third time ; " and 
the water ran round about the altar, and the 
trench was filled up with water." He wrought 
as He himself had done in the raising of Lazarus ; 
for when He heard that His friend was sick, "He 
remained in the same place two days" : on the 
third day He "said plainly, Lazarus is dead, and 
I am glad, for your sake, that I was not there, 
that you may believe ;" and then at length, He 
went and raised him from the grave. So too was 
it in His own resurrection : He did not rise from 
the cross, He did not rise from His mother's 
arms; He arose from the grave, and on the third 
day. 

So is it now ; " He hath taken us, and He will 
heal us ; He will strike, and he will cure us. He 
will revive us after two days ; on the third day 
He will raise us up, and we shall live in Hie 
sight." Three ages have passed away ; the bell 
has tolled once, and £wice, and thrice ; the inter- 
cession of the saints has had effect ; the mystery 
of Providence is unravelled ; the destined hour 
is come. And, as when Christ arose, men knew 
not of His rising, for He rose at midnight and in 
silence, so when His mercy would do His new 
work among us, He wrought secretly, and was 
risen ere men dreamed of it. He sent not His 
Apostles and preachers, as at the first, from the 
city where He has fixed His throne. His few and 



330 THE RELIGIO US HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 

scattered priests were about their own work, 
watching their flocks by night, with little time to 
attend to the souls of the wandering multitudes 
around them, and with no thoughts of the con- 
version of the country. But He came as a spirit 
upon the waters ; He walked to and fro Himself 
over that dark and troubled deep, and, wonderful 
to behold, and inexplicable to man, hearts were 
stirred, and eyes were raised in hope, and feet 
began to move towards the Great Mother, who 
had almost given up the thought and the seeking 
of them. First one, and then another, sought the 
rest which she alone could give. A first, and a 
second, and a third, and a fourth, each in his 
turn, as grace inspired him — not altogether, as 
by some party understanding or political call — 
but drawn by divine power, and against his will, 
for he was happy where he was, yet with his will, 
for he was lovingly subdued by the sweet mys- 
terious influence which called him on. One by 
one, little noticed at the moment, silently, swiftly, 
and abundantly, they drifted in, till all could 
see at length that surely the stone was rolled 
away and that Christ was risen and abroad. 
And as He rose from the grave, strong and 
glorious, as if refreshed with His sleep, so, when 
the prison doors were opened, the Church came 
forth, not changed in aspect or in voice, as calm 
and keen, as vigorous and as well furnished, as 
when they closed on her. It is told in legends of 



THE BELIGIOUS HISTORY OF ENGLAND. 331 

that great saint and instrument of God St. 
Athanasius, Low that when the apostate Julian 
had come to his end, and persecution with him, 
the saintly confessor, who had been a wanderer 
over the earth, was found, to the surprise of his 
people, in his cathedral at Alexandria, seated on 
his episcopal throne and clad in the vestments ot 
religion. So is it now ; the Church is coming out 
of prison, as collected in her teaching, as precise 
in her action, as when she went into it. She 
comes out with pallium, and cope, and chasuble 
and stole, and wonder-working relics, and holy 
images. Her bishops are again in their chairs, 
and her priests sit round, and the perfect vision 
of a majestic hierarchy rises before our eyes. 

What an awful vitality is here ! What a 
heavenly-sustained sovereignty ! What a self- 
evident divinity ! She claims, she seeks, she 
desires no temporal power,, no secular station; 
she meddles not with Csesar or the things of 
Caesar ; she obeys him in his place, but she is 
independent of him. Her strength is in her God; 
her rule is over the souls of men ; her glory is 
in their willing subjection and loving loyalty. 
She hopes and fears nothing from the world ; it 
made her not, nor can it destroy her. She can ben- 
efit it largely, but she does not force herself upon 
it. She may be persecuted by it, but she thrives 
under the persecution. She may be ignored, 
she may be silenced and thrown into a corner, but 



332 THE HOMEWARD BO UND. 

she is thought of the more. Calumniate her, and 
her influence grows ; ridicule her — she does but 
smile upon you more awfully and persuasively. 
What will you do with her, ye sons of men, if 
you will not love her, if at least you will not 
suffer her? Let the last three hundred years 
reply. Let her alone, refrain from her; for if 
her counselor her work be of men, it will come to 
naught ; but if it be of God, you cannot overthrow 
it, lest perhaps you be found even to fight against 
God.— Cardinal Newman. 



THE HOMEWARD BOUND. 

Paler and thinner the morning moon grew, 
Colder and sterner the rising wind blew — 
The pole-star had set in a forest of cloud, 
And the icicles crackled on spar and on shroud, 
When a voice from below we heard feebly cry, 
, " Let me see — let me see — my own land ere I die." 

"Ah, dear sailor, say, have we sighted Cape 

Clear? - 
Can you see any sign ? Is the morning light near ? 
You are young, my brave boy ; thanks, thanks, 

for your hand, 
Help me up, till I get a last glimpse of the land — 



THE HOMEWARD BO UND. 333 

Thank God, 'tis the sun that now reddens the 

sky, 
I shall see — I shall see — my own land ere I die. 

" Lei me lean on your strength, I am feeble and 

old, 
And one-ha]f of my heart is already stone cold , 
Forty years work a change! when I first crossed 

this sea 
There were few on the deck that could grapple 

with me. 
But my youth and my prime in Ohio went by, 
And I'm come back to see the old spot ere I die ! 

'Twas a feeble old man, and he stood on the 

deck, 
His arm round a kindly young mariner's neck, 
His ghastly gaze fixed on the tints of the east, 
As a starveling might stare at the noise of a feast— 
The morn quickly rose and revealed to his eye 
The land he had prayed to behold, and then die ! 

Green, green was the shore, though the year was 

near done — 
High and haughty the capes the white surf dash'd 

upon — 
A gray ruined Convent was down by the strand, 
And the sheep fed afar, on the hills of the land ! 
"God be with you, dear Ireland," he gasped with 

a sigh, 
" I have lived to behold you — I'm ready to die," 



334 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 

He sunk by the hour, and his pulse 'gan to fail, 
As we swept by the headland of storied Kinsale — 
Off Ardigna bay, it came slower and slower, 
And his corpse was clay cold as we sighted Tra- 

more. 
At Passage we waked him, and now he doth lie, 
In the lap of the land, he beheld but to die. 

—TJD. McGee. 



THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 

No observation is more common, and at the 
same time more true, than that one-half of the 
world are ignorant how the other half lives. The 
misfortunes of the great are held up to engage 
our attention; are enlarged upon in tones of dec- 
lamation; and the world is called upon to gaze at 
the noble sufferers; the great, under the pressure 
of calamity, are conscious of several others sym- 
pathizing with their distress; and have at once 
the comfort of admiration and pity. 

There is nothing magnanimous in bearing mis- 
fortunes with fortitude, when the whole world is 
looking on; men in such circumstances will act 
bravely, even from motives of vanity; but he who, 
in the vale of obscurity, can brave adversity; who, 
without friends to encourage, acquaintances to 
pity, or even without hope to alleviate his misfor- 



THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 335 

tunes can behave with tranquillity and indiffer- 
ence is truly great whether peasant or courtier, 
he deserves admiration and should be held up 
for our imitation and respect. 

While the slightest inconveniences of the great 
are magnified into calamities, while tragedy 
mouths out their sufferings in all the strains of 
eloquence, the miseries of the poor are entirely 
disregarded, and yet some of the lower ranks of 
people undergo more real hardships in one day 
than those of a more exalted station suffer in 
their whole lives. It is inconceivable what diffi- 
culties the meanest of our common sailors and 
soldiers endure without murmuring or regret ; 
without passionately declaiming against Provi- 
dence, or calling their fellows to be gazers on their 
intrepidity. Every day is to them a day of misery, 
and yet they endure their hard fate without 
repining. 

With what indignation do I hear an Ovid, a 
Cicero, or a Rabutin, complain of their misfor- 
tunes and hardships ; whose greatest calamity 
was that of being unable to visit a certain spot of 
earth, to which they had foolishly attached an 
idea of happiness ! Their distresses were pleas- 
ures, compared to what many of the adventur- 
ing poor every day endure without murmuring. 
They ate, drank, and slept ; they had slaves to 
attend them, and were sure of subsistence for life : 
while many of their fellow-creatures are obliged 



336 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 

to wander without a friend to comfort or assist 
them, and even without shelter from the severity 
of the season. 

I have been led into these reflections, from acci- 
dentally meeting, some days ago, a poor fellow, 
whom I knew when a boy, dressed in a sailor's 
jacket, and begging at one of the outlets of the 
town, with a wooden leg. I knew him to have been 
honest and industrious when in the country, and 
was curious to learn what had reduced him to his 
present situation ; wherefore, after giving him 
what I thought proper, I desired to know the 
history of his life and misfortunes, and the man- 
ner in which he was reduced to his present dis- 
tress. The disabled soldier, for such he was, 
though dressed in a sailor's habit, scratched his 
head, and leaning on his crutch, put himself into 
an attitude to comply with my request, and gave 
me his history, as follows : 

"As for my misfortunes, master, I can't pre- 
tend to have gone through any more than other 
folks ; for, except the loss of my limb, and my 
being obliged to beg, I don' t know any reason, 
thank Heaven, that I have to complain ; there is 
Bill Tibbs of our regiment, he has lost both his 
legs, and an eye to boot ; but, thank Heaven, it 
is not so bad with me yet. 

" I was born in Shropshire ; my father was a 
laborer, and died when I was five years old ; so 
I was put upon the parish. As he had been a 



THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 337 

wandering sort of a man, the parishioners were 
not able to tell to what parish I belonged or 
where I was born, so they sent me to another 
parish, and that parish sent me to a third. I 
thought in my heart they kept sending me about 
so long, that they would not let me be born in 
any parish at all, but, at last, however, they fixed 
me. I had some disposition to be a scholar, and 
was resolved, at least, to know my letters ; but 
the master of the work- house put me to business 
as soon as I was able to handle a mallet ; and 
here I lived an easy kind of life for five years. I 
only wrought ten hours in the day, and had my 
meat and drink provided for my labor. It is 
true, I was not suffered to stir out of the house, 
for fear, as they said, I should run away. But 
what of that 1 I had the liberty of the whole house 
and the yard before the door ; and that was 
enough for me. I was then bound out to a far- 
mer, where I was up both early and late, but I 
ate and drank well, and liked my business well 
enough, till he died, when I was obliged to pro- 
vide for myself ; so I was resolved to go seek my 
fortune. 

"In this manner I went from town to town, 
worked when I could get employment, and 
starved when I could get none, when happening 
one day to go through a field belonging to a jus- 
tice of the peace, I spied a hare crossing the path 
just before me ; and I believe the devil put it into 



338 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 






my head to fling my stick at it. Well, what will 
you have on't ! I killed the hare, and was bring- 
ing it away, when the justice himself met me : he 
called me a poacher and a villain; and collaring me, 
desired I would give an account of myself. I 
fell upon my knees, begged his worship's pardon, 
and began to give a full account of all that I knew 
of my seed and generation ; but, though I gave a 
very true account, the justice said I could give 
no account ; so I was indicted at the sessions, 
found guilty of being poor, and sent up to Lon- 
don to Newgate, in order to be transported as a 
vagabond. 

"People may say this and that of being in 
jail ; but, for my part, I found Newgate as agree- 
able a place as ever I was in in all my life. I 
had plenty to eat and drink, and did no work at 
all. This kind of life was too good to last forever ; 
so I was taken out of prison, after five months, 
put on board a ship, and sent off, with two hun- 
dred more, to the plantations. We had but an 
indifferent passage ; for, being all confined in the 
hold, more than one hundred of our people died 
for want of sweet air ; and those that remained 
were sickly enough, God knows. When w T e came 
ashore, we were sold to the planters, and I was 
bound for seven years more. 

' ' When my time was expired, I worked my 
passage home ; and glad I was to see Old Eng- 
land again, because I loved my country, I was 



THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 339 

afraid, however, that I should be indicted for a 
vagabond once more, so did not much care to go 
down into the country, but kept about the town, 
and did little jobs, when I could get them. 

"I was very happy in this manner for some 
time, till one evening coming home from work, 
two men knocked me down, and then desired me 
to stand. They belonged to a press-gang. I was 
carried before the justice, and, as I could give no 
account of myself, I had my choice left, whether 
to go on board a man of- war, or list for a soldier. 
I chose the latter; and, in this post of a gentle- 
man, I served two campaigns in Flanders, was at 
the battles of Val and Fontenoy, and received 
but one wound, through the breast here; but the 
doctor of our regiment soon made me well 
again. 

"When the peace came on, I was discharged; 
and, as I could not work, because my wound was 
sometimes troublesome, I listed for a landman in 
the East-India company' s service. I have f ough t 
the French in six pitched battles; and I verily 
believe, that if I could read or write, our captain 
w T ould have made me a corporal. But it was not 
my good fortune to have any promotion, for I 
soon fell sick, and so got leave to return home 
again, with forty pounds in my pocket. 

This was at the beginning of the present war, 
and I hoped to be set on shore, and to have the 
pleasure of spending my money; but the govern- 



340 THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 

menfc wanted men, and so I was pressed for a 
sailor before ever I could set foot on shore. 

"The boatswain found, as he said, an obstinate 
fellow : he swore he knew that I understood my 
business well, but that I shammed Abraham, to be 
idle; but God knows, I knew nothing of sea-busi- 
ness, and he beat me without considering what 
he was about. I had, still, however, my forty 
pounds, and that was some comfort to me under 
every beating; and the money I might have had to 
this day, but that our ship was taken by the 
French, and so I lost all. 

" Our crew was carried into Brest, and many of 
them died because they were not used to live in 
a jail; but, for my part, it was nothing to me, 
for I was seasoned. One night, as I was asleep 
on my bed of boards, with a warm blanket about 
me (for I always loved to lie well), I was awak- 
ened by the boatswain, who had a dark lantern 
in his hand. ' Jack,' says he to me, 'will you 
knock out the French sentry's brains?' 'I 
don't care,' says I, striving to keep myself 
awake, 'if I lend a hand.' 'Then follow me,' 
says he, 'and I hope we shall do business.' 
So up 1 got, and. went with him to fight the 
Frenchmen. 

"Though we had no arms, we went down to 
the door, where both the sentries were posted, 
and, rushing upon them seized their arms in a 
moment, and knocked them down. From thence, 



THE DISABLED SOLDIER. 341 

nine of us ran together to the quay, and seizing 
the first boat we met, got out of the harbor and 
put to sea. We had not been here three days 
before we were taken up by the Dorset privateer, 
who were glad of so many good hands: and we 
consented to run our chance. However, we had 
not so much luck as we expected. In three days 
we fell in with the Pompadour privateer, of forty 
guns, while we had but twenty-three; so to it we 
went, yard-arm and yard-arm. The fight lasted 
for three hours, and I verily believe we should 
have taken the Frenchman, had we had but some 
more men left behind; but, unfortunately, we lost 
all our men just as we were going to get the 
victory. 

" I was once more in the power of the French, 
and I believe it would have gone hard with me 
had I been brought back to Brest; but, by good 
fortune, we were retaken by the Viper. I had 
almost forgot to tell you, that in that engagement, 
I was wounded in two places: I lost four fingers 
off the left hand, and my leg was shot off. If I 
had had the good fortune to have lost my leg and 
the use of my hand on board a king' s ship, and 
not aboard a privateer, I should have been entitled 
to clothing and maintenance during the rest of 
my life; but that was not my chance : one man is 
born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and an- 
other with a wooden ladle. However, blessed be 
Grod! I enjoy good health, and will, forever, love 



342 THE BATTLE OF LEPANTO. 

liberty and Old England. Liberty, property, 
and Old England, forever, huzza!" 

Thus saying, he limped off, leaving me in admira- 
tion at his intrepidity and content; nor could I 
avoid acknowledging, that an habitual acquaint- 
ance with misery serves better than philosophy 
to teach us to despise it. — Goldsmith. 



THE BATTLE OF LEPANTO. 

Gradually the whole battle-front of the enemy 
displayed itself to view; and the sun, now risen 
high above the horizon, shone over a spectacle 
as terrible as it was magnificent. Three hundred 
and thirty large Turkish vessels were to be seen, 
disposed in the form of a vast crescent, and far 
outflanking their opponents' line; but the cour- 
age of the Christian leaders remained unmoved 
by the terrific sight. Although it became evident 
that the reports of the Spanish spies had greatly 
underrated the numbers and strength of their op- 
ponents, yet, as Rosell relates, the heart of Don 
John was unappalled; and placing his hopes in 
God, and fixing his eyes upon the crucifix he ever 
carried with him, he gave thanks aloud for bis 
victory as already won. No sooner were the 
words uttered than a token seemed to be given 



THE BATTLE OF LEPANTO. 343 

him to assure him that his trust was not ill- 
founded. Hitherto the wind had been all in favor 
of the Turks, whose enormous crescent was bear- 
ing rapidly down on the Christian host, like some 
fierce bird of prey with outstretched wings, when 
suddenly the breeze fell, and the sails flapped 
idly on the masts; there was a dead and profound 
calm. The sea but a moment before crested 
with foam, became motionless and smooth as a 
sheet of glass; it seemed as though they were go- 
ing to fight on land rather than on water, so still 
and quiet lay the ships but just now tossed and 
beaten by the angry waves. Presently a soft ris- 
ing breeze was heard sighing among the cordage ; 
by and by it gathered strength ; but this time it 
filled the Christian sails, blowing right against 
the prows of the Turkish ships, and the whole 
state of things was changed. The Turkish line, 
which but a minute previously had seemed to ex- 
tend its wide arms as if to enfold its helpless foe 
in a deadly embrace, was thrown into some con- 
fusion by this sudden and extraordinary veering 
of the wind, while the Christian vessels, carried 
forward by a brisk and favorable breeze, bore 
down with impetuous gallantry on the foe, and 
thus gained all the advantage of attack. The 
Turks, however, fired the first shot, which was 
quickly answered by the Spaniards; then, plac- 
ing himself in full armor on the prow of his gal- 
ley, Don John ordered the trumpets to sound 



344 THE BATTLE OF LEPANTO. 

the charge; whilst in every vessel the crews and 
soldiers knelt to receive the last general absolu- 
tion, and this being given, every thought was 
turned to the approaching struggle. 

It was noon before the fight began ; the brilliant 
sun rode aloft in the clear azure of the Grecian 
sky, and flashed brightly on the casques and 
armor of the warriors. The Moslems received 
their assailants with loud and horrible cries, 
which were met on the part of the Christians by 
a profound silence. The flag- ship of Ali Pasha 
commenced the cannonade ; but the fire of the 
Venetians opened on the Turks so suddenly, and 
with such overwhelming violence, that at the 
first discharge their advancing vessels recoiled 
as though from the shock of a tremendous blow, 
and at the second broadside two of their galleys 
were sunk. In addition to the discouragement 
produced by this first incident in the fight, the 
adverse wind carried all the smoke of the Chris- 
tian artillery right upon the decks of the Turks, 
who were thus blinded and embarrassed : whilst 
their enemies were able to direct every movement 
with facility, and fought in the clear light of 
day. After this first encounter the battle became 
general : Don John eagerly made his way towards 
the pasha' s galley, and Ali, on his part, did not 
decline the challenge. To form anything like a 
correct idea of a sea-fight in those days, we must 
remember the nature of the vessels then in use, 



THE BATTLE OF LEPANTO. 345 

propelled as they were by rowers seated on sev- 
eral tiers of benches, and defended less by artil- 
lery than by the armed combatants, who strove 
to grapple hand to hand with their opponents. 
The galleys of war were armed with long beaks, or 
pointed prows, with which they dashed against 
the enemy's vessels, and often sunk them at the 
first shock. Terrible was the meeting of the lead- 
ers of the two armaments ; the long beak of Ali 
Pasha's galley was forced far among the benches 
of the Christain rowers — his own rowers, be it 
said, were Christians also — slaves chained to their 
posts, and working under the threat of death if 
they shrank from their task, and the promise of 
liberty if the Turks should gain the day. Then 
there rose the clash of arms ; the combatants 
met face fco face, and their swords rang on the 
armor of their opponents, whilst the waters were 
lashed into fury by the strokes of a thousand 
oars. Wider and wider the conflict spread : the 
Bey of Alexandria, at the head of his galleys, 
made a furious attack on the Venetian squadron ; 
but he was met by Barbarigo and his men with 
the most eager and determined courage ; for the 
memory of the cruelties practised on their coun- 
trymen at Famagosta was fresh in their minds, 
and animated them to vengeance. 

The combat soon became too general for the 
different divisions of the two armaments to pre- 
serve their respective positions. Every portion 



346 THE BATTLE OF LEPANTO 

of the hostile fleets was engaged ; but the most 
desperate fight was that between the galleys of 
the rival generals, Ali Pasha and Don John of 
Austria. Both commanders fought in the thick- 
est of the fray, regardless of their rank, and with 
the bold temerity of simple men-at-arms. By the 
side of the prince's galley were those of Colonna 
and Sebastian Yeniero ; and in them, and in the 
other vessels that surrounded them, were assem- 
bled the very flower of the Christian host. Here 
for the most part were the noble French and 
Roman volunteers : hardly a great house of Italy 
but had its representative among the combatants : 
two of the Colonnas ; Paul Orsini, the chief of 
his name, with his brothers, Horace and Yirgii - 
ius ; Antonio Carrafa, Michel Bonelli, and Paul 
Ghislieri, nephews of the Pope ; and Farnese, 
prince of Parma, who played a very hero's part 
in the flag-ship of the Genoese republic. The 
battle in the centre, led on by such men, and met 
with equal valor and determination on the part 
of their adversaries, lasted more than two hours. 
Already had the Christians made two gallant at- 
tempts to board the vessel of the pasha, and 
each time they were driven back with loss so soon 
as they reached his decks. The burning midday 
sun added to the heat of the engagement, and 
the thirst of the soldiers was almost intolerable. 
The decks were heaped with dead, and those still 
living were covered with wounds and well-nigh 



THE BATTLE OF LEPANTO. 347 

exhausted from loss of blood ; and still they 
maintained the conflict with nnabated courage. 
At length the signal was given for a third charge. 
It was obeyed with an impetuosity nothing could 
resist ; and whilst Ali Pasha vainly strove, as be- 
fore, to drive back his desperate assailants, 
a shot from an arquebuse struck him in the fore- 
head. Staggering from his wound, he fell, and 
his head was instantly cut off by a blow from 
one of the galley-slaves, and thrown into the sea. 
The event of the battle after this was no longer 
doubtful. Don John with his own hands pulled 
down the Turkish flag, and shouted " Victory !" 
whilst Santa Cruz, profiting by the confusion, 
pushed forward with the reserve, and completed 
the discomfiture of the foe. At this critical mo- 
ment the corsair Ouloudj Ali, seeing that the 
whole Turkish centre was broken, and the day 
irretrievably lost, hoisted all sail, and with forty 
galleys, the only vessels that escaped out of that 
bloody battle, passed safely through the midst 
of the Christian fleet. 

The Turks struggled long and desperately be- 
fore they finally gave way. It was four in the 
afternoon ere the fight was over ; and the lower- 
ing sky betokened the gathering of a tempest. 
The remains of the Turkish fleet fled in all direc- 
tions, pursued, though with difficulty, by the 
allies, whose wearied rowers could scarcely hold 
the oars ; whilst their numbers were so thinned 



348 THE BATTLE OF LEPANTO. 

by the slaughter that it was as much as the com- 
manders could do to find crews for their vessels. 
Crippled as the Christians were, however, the 
infidels were seized with panic, and ran their ves- 
sels madly against the shore of Lepanto. In 
their terrified efforts to land, many were drowned ; 
whilst the galleys were broken by the waves, or 
fell an easy prey to the conquerors. The whole 
sea for miles presented most terrible tokens of 
the battle ; those clear waters, on which the morn- 
ing sun had shone so brightly, were now dark and 
discolored by human blood. Headless corpses 
and the fragments of many a wreck floated about in 
strange confusion ; while the storm, which every 
moment raged in wilder fury, added to the horror 
of the scene, lit up as the night advanced by the 
flames from the burning galleys, many of which 
were found too much disabled to be of any use 
to their captors. Twelve of those belonging to 
the allies were destroyed ; but the extent of their 
victory may be estimated by the fact that eighty 
vessels belonging to the Turks were sunk, whilst 
130 remained in the hands of the Christians. 
The pasha' s galley, which was among those taken, 
was a vessel of surpassing beauty. The deck, 
says Knolles, was of walnut- wood, dark as ebony, 
" checkered and wrought marvellously fine with 
divers lively colors and variety of histories ;" and 
her cabin glittered with ornaments of gold, rich 
hangings, and precious gems. The enemy's slain 



DEC LARA TION OF IRISH RIGHTS. 349 

amounted to 30.000 men; and 15,000 of the 
Christian slaves who had been compelled to 
work the Ottoman galleys were liberated. Yet 
the victory, complete as it was, was dearly 
bought ; the loss of the allies was reckoned at 
about 8,000 men ; and their ships, riddled with 
balls, and many of them dismasted, presented a 
striking contrast to the gay and gallant trim in 
which but a few days previously they had left 
the harbor of Messina. — E. H. T, 



DECLARATION OF IRISH RIGHTS. 

Henry Grattan, one of the most renowned of Irish orators, 
was born in Dublin, on the third of July, 1746, and died in 1820. 
In December, 1775, he took his seat in the Irish House of 
Commons; and from that time till 1800, he figured politically 
in that body chiefly. The Irish Revolution of 1782 was carried 
mainly by his efforts. Although a Protestant, he was a most 
earnest advocate of the entire emancipation of the Catholics from 
all invidious distinctions and disabilities. In 1805 Grattan took 
his seat in the British Parliament, where he became tbe leading 
champion of Catholic rights. Of Grattan we may add, in the 
words of the Rev. Sydney Smith: — " No Government ever dis- 
mayed him; the world could not bribe bim; he thought only 
of Ireland; lived for no other object; he dedicated to her his 
beautiful fancy, his manly courage, and all the splendor of his 
astonishing eloquence." 

Sir, — I have entreated an attendance on this day 
that you might, in the most public manner, deny 



350 DECLARATION OF IRISH RIGHTS. 

the claim of the British Parliament to make law 
for Ireland, and with one voice lift up your hands 
against it. England now smarts under the lesson 
of the American war ; her enemies are a host, 
pouring upon her from all quarters of the earth ; 
her armies are dispersed ; the sea is not hers ; she 
has no minister, no ally, no admiral, none in 
w r hom she long confides, and no general whom 
she has not disgraced ; the balance of her fate is 
in the hands of Ireland ; you are not only the 
last connection — you are the only nation in 
Europe that is not her enemy. Let corruption 
tremble, but let the friends of liberty rejoice at 
these means of safety, and this hour of redemption. 
You have done too much not to do more ; you 
have gone too far not to go on ; you have brought 
yourselves into that situation in which you must 
silently abdicate the rights of your country, or 
publicly restore them. Where is the freedom of 
traded Where is the security of property? 
Where is the liberty of the people % I therefore 
say, nothing is safe, satisfactory or honorable, 
nothing except a declaration of rights. What ! 
are you, with three hundred thousand men at 
your back, with charters in one hand and arms in 
the other, afraid to say you are a free people? 
If England is a tyrant, it is you have made her so ; 
it is the slave that makes the tyrant, and then 
murmurs at the master whom he himself has con- 
stituted. 






DECLARATION OF IRISH RIGHTS. 351 

The British minister mistakes the Irish char- 
acter ; had he intended to make Ireland a slave, he 
should have kept her a beggar. There is no 
middle policy : win her heart by the restoration 
of her rights, or cut off the Nation's right hand ; 
greatly emancipate, or fundamentally destroy, 
We may talk plausibly to England, but so long 
as she exercises a power to bind this country, 
so long are the Nations in a state of war ; the 
claims of the one go against the liberty of the 
other, and the sentiments of the latter go to oppose 
those claims to the last drop of her blood. The 
English opposition, therefore, are right ; mere 
trade will not satisfy Ireland. They judge of us 
by other great Nations ; by the Nation whose 
political life has been a struggle for liberty — 
America ! They judge of us with a true knowledge 
and just deference for our character ; that a coun- 
try enlightened as Ireland, chartered as Ireland, 
armed as Ireland, and injured as Ireland will be 
satisfied with nothing less than liberty. 

I might, as a constituent, come to your bar and 
demand my liberty. I do call upon you, by the 
laws of the land, and their violation, by the in- 
struction of eighteen centuries, by the arms, 
inspiration and providence of the present moment, 
tell us the rule by which we shall go, assert the 
law of Ireland ; declare the liberty of the land. 
I will not be answered by a public lie in the shape 
of an amendment ; neither speaking for the sub- 



352 THE WIFE. 

ject's freedom, am I to hear of faction. I wish 
for nothing but to breathe, in this our island, in 
common with my fellow- subjects, the air of 
liberty, I have no ambition, unless it be the 
ambition to break your chain, and contemplate 
your glory. I never will be satisfied so long as 
the meanest cottager in Ireland has a link of the 
British chain clanking to his rags. He may be 
naked — he shall not be in iron. And I do see 
the time is at hand, the spirit is gone forth, the 
declaration is planted ; and though great men 
should apostatize, yet the cause will live ; and 
though the public speaker should die, yet the 
immortal fire shall outlast the organ which con- 
veyed it, and the breath of liberty, like the word 
of the holy man, will not die with the prophet, 
but survive him.— Grattan. 



THE WIFE. 



I have often had occasion to remark the 
fortitude with which women sustain the most 
overwhelming reverses of fortune. Those . disas- 
ters which break down the spirit of a man, and 
prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all 
the energies of the softer sex, and give such 
intrepidity and elevation to their character, that 
at times it approaches to sublimity. 



THE WIFE. 353 

Nothing can be more touching than to'behold a 
soft and tender female, who had been all weak- 
ness and dependence, and alive to every trivial 
roughness, while treading the prosperous paths 
of life, suddenly arising in mental force to be 
the comforter and supporter of her husband 
under misfortune, and abiding, with unshrinking 
firmness, the most bitter blasts of adversity. 

As the vine, which has long twined its grace- 
ful foliage about the oak, and been lifted by it 
into sunshine, will, when the hardy plant is rifted 
by the thunderbolt, cling around it with its 
caressing tendrils, and bind up its shattered 
boughs ; so is it beautifully ordered by Provi- 
dence, that woman, who is the mere dependant 
and ornament of man in his happier hours, 
should be his stay and solace when smitten with 
sudden calamity ; winding herself into the rugged 
recesses of his nature, tenderly supporting the 
drooping head, and binding up the broken heart. 

I was once congratulating a friend, who had 
around him a blooming family, knit together in 
the strongest affection. " I can wish you no better 
lot," said he, with enthusiasm, " than to have a 
wife and children. If you are prosperous, 
there they are to share your prosperity ; if other- 
wise, there they are to comfort you." 

And, indeed I have observed, that A married 
man, falling into misfortune, is more apt to re- 
trieve his situation in the world than a single 



354 THE CROSS IN THE WILDERNESS. 

one ; partly because he is more stimulated to ex- 
ertion by the necessities of the helpless and be- 
loved beings who depend upon him for subsis- 
tence ; but chiefly because his spirits are soothed 
and relieved by domestic endearments, and his 
self-respect kept alive by finding, that though 
all abroad is darkness and humiliation, yet there 
is still a little world of love at home, of which he 
is the monarch. — Washington Irving. 



THE CEOSS IN THE WILDERNESS. 

Silent and mournful sat an Indian chief, 
In the red sunset, by a grassy tomb ; 

His eyes, that might not weep, were dark with 
grief, 
And his arms folded in majestic gloom 

And his bow lay unstrung beneath the mound, 

Which sanctified the gorgeous waste around. 

For a pale cross above its greensward rose, 
Telling the cedars and the pines, that there 

Man's heart and hope had struggled with his 
woes, 
And lifted from the dust a voice of prayer,— 



THE CBOSS IN THE WILDEBNESS. 355 

Now all was hush'd; and eve's last splendor 

shone, 
With a rich sadness, on the attesting stone. 
There came a lonely traveller o'er the wild, 
And he, too, paused in reverence by that 

grave. 
Asking the tale of its memorial, piled 

Between the forest and the lake's bright wave ; 
Till, as a wind might stir a wither' d oak, 
On the deep dream of age his accents broke. 

And the gray chieftain, slowly rising, said — 
" I listen' d for the words which years ago, 
Pass'd o'er these waters; though the voice is 
fled, 
Which made them as a singing fountain's 
flow, 
Yet, when I sit in their long-faded track, 
Sometimes the forest's murmur gives them back. 

"Ask'st thou of him whose house is lone be- 
neath ? 
I was an eagle in my youthful pride, 
When o'er the seas he came with summer's 
breath, 
To dwell amidst us on the lake's green side. 
Many the times of flowers have been since then ; 
Many, but bringing naught like him again. 

"Not with hunter's bow and spear he came, 
O'er the blue hills to chase the flying roe ; 



;356 THE CROSS IN THE WILDERNESS. 

Not the dark glory of the woods to tame, 

Laying their cedars, like the corn stacks, low ; 
"But to spread tidings of all holy things, 
Gladdening our souls as with the morning's 



" Doth not yon cypress whisper how we met, 

I and my brethren that from earth are gone, 
tUnder its boughs to hear his "voice, which yet, 
Seems through their gloom to send a silvery 
tone ? 
JHe told of one the grave's dark bonds who 

broke, 
And our hearts burn' d within us as he spoke ! 

'"He told of far and sunny lands, which lie 

Beyond the dust wherein our fathers dwell ; 
IBright must they be ! for there are none that 
die. 
And none that weep, and none that say 
' Farewell !' 
He came to guide us thither ; — but away 
The happy call'd him, and he might not stay. 

■" We saw him slowly fade — a thirst, perchance, 
For the fresh waters of that lovely clime ; 

"Yet was there still a sunbeam in his glance, 
And on his gleaming hair no touch of time , 

Therefore we hoped — but now the lake looks 
dim, 



THE CROSS IN THE WILDERNESS. 357 

For the green summer comes and finds not 
him. 



" We gather d ronnd him in the dewy hour 
Of one still morn, beneath his chosen tree; 

From his clear voice at first the words of power 
Came low, like moanings of a distant sea; 

But s well'd, and shook the wilderness erelong, 

As if the spirit of the breeze grew strong. 

"And then once more they trembled on his 
tongue 
And his white eyelids flutter' d, and his head 
Fell back, and mists upon his forehead hung — 
Know'st thou not how we pass to join the 
dead? 
It is enough! he sank upon my breast, — 
Our friend that loved us, he was gone to rest! 

"We buried him where he was wont to pray, 

By the calm lake, e'en here, at eventide ; 
We rear' d this cross in token where he lay, 

For on the cross, he said, his Lord had died ! 
Now hath he surely reach' d, o'er mount and 

wave, 
That flowery land whose green turf hides no 
grave ! 



"But I am sad— I mourn the clear light taken 



358 THE ENCHANTED ISLAND. 

Back from my people, o'er whose place it 
shone, 
The pathway to the better shore forsaken, 

And the true words forgotten, save by one 
Who hears them faintly sounding from the 

past, 
Mingled with death-songs, in each fitful blast." 

Then spoke the wanderer forth with kindling 
eye: 
" Son of the wilderness, despair thou not, 
Though the bright hour may seem to thee gone 
by, 
And the cloud settled o'er thy nation's lot; 
Heaven darkly works — yet where the seed 

hath been, 
There shall the fruitage, glowing, yet be seen." 

— Mrs. Remans. 



THE ENCHANTED ISLAND. 

[The tradition in this beautiful little ballad is almost the same 
as that on which " Hy-Brasail," and other poems are founded, 
except in point of locality ; the scene of the latter ballads being 
placed in the Atlantic, to the west of the Isles of Arran, while 
" the Enchanted Island" is supposed to be in the neighborhood 
of Rathlin Island, off the north coast of the county Antrim. 
The name of the island, which has been spelt a different way by 



THE ENCHANTED ISLAND. 359 

almost every writer on the subject, is supposed to be derived 
from Rag7i-Eiin, or ' ' the Fort of Erin," as its situation, com- 
manding the Irish coast, might make it, not unaptly, be styled 
" the fortress of Ireland. " — See Leonard's Topographia Hibernica.'] 

To Rathlin's Isle I chanced to sail, 

When summer breezes spf tly blew, 
And there I heard so sweet a tale, 

That oft I wished it could be true. 
They said, at eve, when rude winds sleep, 

And hushed is every turbid swell, 
A mermaid rises from the deep, 

And sweetly tunes her magic shell. 

And while she plays, rock, dell, and cave, 

In dying falls the sound retain, 
As if some choral spirits gave 

Their aid to swell her witching strain. 
Then summoned by that dulcet note, 

Uprising toth' admiring view, 
A fairy island seems to float 

With tints of many a gorgeous hue. 

And glittering fanes, and lofty towers, 

All on this fairy isle are seen ; 
And waving trees, and shady bowers, 

With more than mortal verdure green. 
And as it moves, the western sky 

Glows with a thousand varying rays ; 
And the calm sea, tinged with each dye, 

Seems like a golden flood of blaze. 



360 THE APPARITIONS AT KNOCK. 

They also say, if earth or stone, 

From verdiant Erin's hallowed land, 
Were on this magic island thrown, 

Forever fixed, it then wonld stand. 
Bnt, when for this, some little boat 

In silence ventures from the shore — 
The mermaid sinks— hushed is the note, 

The fairy isle is seen no more ! 



THE APPARITIONS AT KNOCK. 

The Catholic world has heard of the name and 
fame of Lourdes, once a wild spot, but now fre- 
quented by all the world, far away in the moun- 
tainous region to the south of Fiance. A second 
Lourdes has arisen at Knock, a small village sur- 
rounded by little hills, from which, as expressive 
of the natural character of the locality, it is known 
to the natives as the " village of the hills." It is 
distant about four miles from Claremorris, which 
is favorably situated on the Great North Western 
Railway. All this, it is useful to state, for the 
sake of those who are now coming in numbers to 
visit at Knock, the scene of the various appari- 
tions of the Blessed Virgin and of St. Joseph and 
the Redeemer, which have been seen by the natives 
of that unpretending Nazareth. The multitudes 



THE APPABITIONS AT KNOCK. 361 

who have flocked to the chapel, or districts, are 
quite as numerous as those that formed the monster 
meetings. As the people of the neighboring towns 
and districts and countries more remote, aye, and 
the Catholics of England and America, take a great 
interest in the events that have lately transpired, 
and which at present are spoken of by everybody 
in this country — Protestant as well as Catholic — 
relative to the supernatural apparitions seen at 
the chapel of Knock, it is right to Sell the public 
all the well authenticated facts regarding the 
multitudes, the miracles, and th& many and re- 
peated manifestations that appear now to be seen 
each successive week. And first as to the mul- 
titudes. 

A vast gathering of people from all the border 
towns within a circuit of twenty miles assembled 
at this unpretending little village. Some of the pil- 
grim travellers started before day, guided by the 
light of the stars alone, and urged onward by the 
fervor of their own faith. Some were seen wending 
their way on foot, others on horseback, while whole 
families of peasants proceeded on their pilgrimage, 
journeying on the ordinary country vehicle known 
as a cart; the better class indulged in the luxury of 
side cars, or as they are known in Dublin by the 
name " outsiders;" not a few families from the 
different towns cut a dash by a tandem drive with 
the highest available vehicle in these parts, known 
by the unpretending and not agreeably sounding 



362 THE APPARITIONS AT KNOCK. 

name of " drag"— a "hansom" would be quite 
a novel vehicle in that district. The gathering 
had, certainly, been enormous, exhibiting, at the 
same time, an agreeable diversity in the mixed 
character of the crowd assembled. 

The variety of individual character was co-ex- 
tensive with the greatness of the numbers that com- 
posed the gathering. There one could behold the 
blind, the lame, the crippled, the deformed, the 
deaf, the paralytic, and epileptic — all seeking to 
be cured, like those whom the Redeemer found 
at the Pool near Jerusalem. Accounts without 
number have come to our ears of cures effected 
before Christmas last, and above all, since that 
period; and on last Thursday week it is stated that 
two remarkable miracles were performed on two 
persons who for years had, from the result of ac- 
cidental causes, been unable to walk. The man 
found himself so greatly cured that he left his 
crutches and bounded home like the lame man 
cured before the golden gate of the temple of 
Jerusalem by St Peter and St John the Evange- 
list — walking and bounding along, and all the 
while giving thanks to God and blessing God's 
holy name. 

Thursday and Monday are the days now set 
a|>art for visiting this place. This conclusion has 
been arrived at because the Blessed Mother of Our 
Lord appeared first on a Thursday, and again on 
the first day of the New Year — a Thursday; 



THE APPABITIONS AT KNOCK. 363 

and on Mondays not a few miracles have been 
performed on devotees who came to manifest 
their devotion for onr Blessed Lady. The fame 
of these miracles, and the story of the various 
apparitions too, have gone abroad, and have cre- 
ated an immense amount of conjecture and dis- 
cussion amongst the people relative to the natural 
and supernatural world. The children of the faith 
see nothing wonderful at all in these manifesta- 
tions. It is to them something that they expected, 
or, if they did not actually expect their coming at 
this time and place, they see nothing incongruous 
in the fact that they have occurred. The spiritual 
world is to them like a land with which they are 
familiar from the knowledge which their holy 
faith supplies, pretty much, as they are not 
put out of sorts with anything they hear or 
see from America — to them a far off land — 
because in this instance American life and habits 
are something with which they are familiar, 
for their relatives in that country commune 
with their friends in Ireland and tell them all re- 
garding themselves and American life and man- 
ners in that great Republic to the West of the 
Atlantic. In this way our Catholic people are no 
way put about by the narration of miracles or of 
miraculous apparitions at Knock. They are by 
faith aware beforehand that such things happened 
before, happen now, and will take place as long 
as the Church of God is on earth. The angels 



364 THE APPARITIONS AT KNOCK 

appeared to Abraham, and walked with him, and 
talked to him, and directed u him in all his ways." 
They appeared and spoke to, and brought to a 
foreign country and back the grandson of Abra- 
ham, Isaac — the father of all the Israelites. The 
same is true of Tobias and Daniel, the Prophets, 
and of St. Peter, the head of the Apostles, and of 
numerous saints in the Catholic Church in Africa, 
in Rome, and in this island during the golden 
age of sanctity in Ireland. What happened once, 
why not happen again? It is the same God who 
ruled and governed mankind then as now; it is 
the same Church that points out to her children 
the way, the truth, and the life; the Irish faith- 
ful like those in the time of St. Columkille, or at 
an after period, are the brothers of the Redeemer, 
purchased by His sacred blood. He loves us as 
He loves them, and sends His angels to take 
charge of us, as they took charge of them in days 
past. 

These points have been spoken of and canvassed 
in conversation amongst laity and amongst re- 
ligious in Connaught for the last six months. 
It was only when the matter was described in a 
former issue of the Tuam News that the faith- 
ful began to attach any degree of credibility to 
the facts before that time incorrectly narrated. 
The Tuam News gave a summary of the events 
that had occurred up to that time, stamped with 
the appearance of the supernatural. The appar- 



TEE APPARITIONS A T KNOCK. 365 

ition of the 21st of August cannot well be 
understood without having some notion of the 
position and form of the little Catholic Church 
in the village of Knock. The building has no 
pretension to architectural elegance of any kind, 
nor to the internal beauty such as one would wish 
to witness in God's house. The plan of the build- 
ing, if plan it can be called, is in the shape of 
the letter T, the long limb being about seventy 
feet and the cross limbs in breadth about fifty 
feet. The chancel and altar are grouped at the 
head where the arms project to the right and left. 
Standing at the altar and looking down the nave, 
one beholds at the end a loft or entrance that 
leads to a tower with belfry, both of which are 
of modern construction and date. The gold col- 
ored pinnacle of this tower is tlie first part of 
the building that comes in view as one from a 
southerly direction approaches the village in 
which the church stands. To the rear of the chan- 
cel and attached to the gable of the altar a house 
less elevated than the walls of the church proper, 
has been erected ; this additional building which 
is entered by a door from the chancel, is known as 
the sacristy — a house in which the sacred orna- 
ments of the church, and the sacred vessels, and 
every requisite for the altar are kept in safety, 
by the priests or by their attendants. The gable 
of this sacristy, in a line parallel to the gable of 
the church, is the second stone erection between 



366 THE APPABITIONS AT KNOCK. 

the chancel and the outside world, towards, or 
at the south-eastern gable. 

It is well, too, to point out the direction to 
which this plain wall faces : — Its front looks 
straight into the approaching meridian sun at 11 
o'clock, a. m. ; its right wing points to the south- 
west ; its left wing, or branch, to the east by 
north. This is the gable hard by which the first 
miraculous apparition was beheld on the evening 
and night of the 21st August. It is thus seen 
that there are two gables between the altar of the 
church and the gable fronting the south-east, and 
that, consequently, if lights appeared in the 
church, the reflection from them could never beam 
on the outside at the foot of the wall of the 
second gable ; above all, direct light could never 
convey by any laws of optics, images, when ra- 
diating from a centre, and not passing through 
any other translucent medium, from which the 
rays of light might, at a certain fixed and meas- 
ured distance, carry the image of the object or 
pellucid picture. The time at which the appa- 
rition appeared was some twenty minutes after 
sunset, so that by no law of radiation from re- 
flected light could the images be thrown naturally 
or artifically from the clouds. Add to that, the 
great fact, that at the time the Blessed Virgin ap- 
peared, it was pouring rain in torrents, and the 
drizzling rain continued the whole time, and late 
onwards through the night. The whole of that 



THE APPARITIONS AT KNOCK. 367 

day had been one dreary, dismal downpour, from 
early dawn to the dusky hours of sun-down. 
We give the following quotation from what we 
have already written on the subject : — " All that 
may be said in the following is an expression of 
the feelings of the people, and does not pretend 
to anticipate the judgment which the ecclesias- 
tical superiors may express upon the facts of 
which they are already cognizant. 

"The chapel of Knock, at which the appari- 
tions have occurred, is about five miles from Clare- 
morris, and its gilt cross which surmounts the 
lofty tower can be seen for miles around. The 
priest who so worthily presides over the parish 
is the Venerable Archdeacon of the Diocese — 
the Yery Rev. Bartholomew Cavanagh. The 
chapel is of cruciform shape. The sacristy oc- 
cupies the upper and smaller shaft, and is imme- 
diately behind the high altar. In the gable of 
the sacristy there is a Gothic window about five 
feet by two broad ; its lowest part is about twelve 
feet from the ground. The remainder of the 
gable is plain, and was covered outside by a good 
substantial coating of cement, to protect the wall 
from the rains, which beat with great violence 
especially upon that side. On this gable wall of 
the sacristy were seen the extraordinary lights, 
in the midst of which the Blessed Virgin, accom- 
panied by St. Joseph and St. John the Evangel- 
ist, appeared. On Thursday, the 21st of August, 



368 THE APPARITIONS AT KNOCK. 

the eve of tlie octave day of the Assumption of 
the Blessed Virgin Mary, was accompanied by a 
Winding drizzle of rain, which continued till the 
next day. As some persons were hurriedly going 
along the road which leads by the chapel, at about 
7.30 p. m., they perceived the wall beautifully 
illuminated by a white flickering light, through 
which could be perceived brilliant stars twinkling 
as on a bright frosty night. The first person who 
saw it passed on, but others soon came and re- 
mained, and these saw, covering a large portion 
of the gable end of the sacristy, an altar, and at 
its Gospel side the figures of St John the Evan- 
gelist, the Blessed Virgin and St Joseph. On the 
altar, which stood eight feet from the ground, and 
immediately under the window, a lamb stood, 
and rising up behind the lamb was a crucifix with 
the figure of Our Lord upon it. 

4 'The altar was surrounded by a brilliant white 
light, through which up and down angels seemed 
to be flitting. Near the altar, and immediately 
to its Gospel side, but nearer to the ground, was 
St. John, having a mitre on his head, and hold- 
ing the book of the Gospel open in his left hand, 
as if reading from it. He held his right hand 
raised, and in the act of blessing, the index and 
middle fingers being extended after the manner 
adopted by bishops. To St. John's right stood 
the Blessed Virgin, having her hands extended 
and raised towards her shoulders, the palms of 



THE APPARITIONS AT KNO CK. 369 

her hands turned towards the people, and her 
eyes raised up towards heaven. To the Blessed 
Virgin's right was St. Joseph, turned towards her, 
and in an inclining posture. These figures re- 
mained visible for a considerable time, and were 
witnessed by about twenty persons, who forgot 
all about the heavy rain that was then falling 
and drenched them thoroughly. The light in 
the chapel was seen by people who lived near 
the place. She appeared a second time on 
New Years Day between the hours of 1 and 2 
o' clock, just immediately after Mass. On Monday 
evening, the eve of the Epiphany, a bright light 
was again visible, and from 11 p.m until 2 o'clock 
a.m was seen by a very large number, of whom 
two were members of the Royal Irish Constabu- 
lary, who were on their patrol duty that evening. 
One of them said that up to that time he did not 
believe in it, but he was really startled by the 
brightness of the light which he saw. 

" Many cures have been worked through the in- 
tercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and by 
the application of the cement taken from the 
chapel walls. We have heard from the mouths 
of most trustworthy witnesses an account of 
nearly a dozen cures of which the narrators 
themselves were eye-witnesses. In addition to 
what we have already written regarding the visions 
seen at the chapel of Knock, two remarkable mir- 
acles, witnessed by hundreds of persons, were per- 



370 THE APPARITIONS AT KNOCK. 

formed — namely, sight restored to two young girls, 
one of whom had, on the testimony of her mother, 
not seen from her birth. She had been several 
times with physicians in Dublin, but all to no 
purpose. In the presence of hundreds she re- 
ceived the use of sight, having visited three times 
the spot where the Blessed Virgin Mary is said to 
have appeared, and after praying three times 
in honor of the Mother of Gfod." 

Even since these words just quoted have been 
written, other miracles, as we have stated in the 
first part of this article, have come under the testi- 
mony and cognizance of numbers who have fre- 
quented the hallowed spot ; and, on last Monday 
(20th), the roads leading to Knock were fairly 
supplied with more than the ordinary gathering 
of wayfarers. On good au thority we have learned 
that by the order of his Grace the Archbishop 
of Tuam, the depositions of the several wit- 
nesses have been taken by a commission of 
learned priests and dignitaries deputed for that 
purpose, and they have reported officially that the 
testimony of all, taken as a whole, is trustworthy 
and satisfactory. Over fifteen to twenty witnesses 
have attested the truth of the facts narrated in 
these columns. And as we close this article we 
hear a Mr. Ansbro, who lives near Crossboyne, 
and who for the past year had lost his eyes, re- 
ceived the use of his sight after visiting the spot 
where the Blessed Virgin Mary appeared. 



OLD CATHEDRALS AND ABBEYS. 371 

OLD CATHEDRALS AND ABBEYS. 

GOTHIC AECHITECTUEE. 

There is no feature in the landscape of the 
Continent which so impresses an American, as the 
grand cathedrals and picturesque ruins of ancient 
abbeys which are scattered over western Europe. 
These old cathedrals are so vast, so massive, of an 
architecture so novel and peculiar, so expressive 
of reverence to God, with their " long-drawn 
aisles," dim with a solemn religious light; their 
immense and yet graceful arches, springing, like 
the branches of the noblest elms, from the column 
to support the vaulted roof ; their gorgeous 
windows, on which are painted, with the colors of 
the rainbow, the Bible history from the creation 
down ; all hoary with the dust and grime of cen- 
turies; many of their old gray walls clothed with 
the dark foliage of the ivy, as ancient, nearly, as 
the walls to which it clings; their interiors full of 
quaint, old, curious carvings in oak and cedar 
and ebony and stone, old tombs and monuments 
so old that antiquarians have disputed for centu- 
ries about the persons to whose memory they were 
reared. These religious edifices, cathedrals and 
abbeys, which, while you gaze on their ruins, and 
attempt to read their worn inscriptions, make you 



372 OLD CATHEDRALS AND ABBEYS. 

feel as though yon were attempting to translate 
a hymn from one of the Hebrew prophets^ 
are found all over Europe, from Scotland to 
the Mediterranean, from Roslyn and Melrose to 
Seville and Milan. They are the memorials, the 
relics, the monuments of another age, and people 
widely different from our own. They were the 
expression of a deep and wide-spread feeling ; and 
there is a profound religious sentiment in their 
vast area, their aerial height, their dark shadows 
and dimly-lighted naves. Most of them were con- 
structed in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries ; 
and they express an earnest, pervading, enthu- 
siastic religious sentiment, similiar to that which 
inspired the Crusades. The untold wealth of treas- 
ure, of labor and ornamentation, lavished upon 
them, eloquently declare the existence of a wide- 
spread feeling among the people, that it was then 
thought a privilege to contribute towards the erec- 
tion of the house of God. The cathedrals are 
generally well preserved, carefully looked after, 
and some of them, begun centuries ago, are still 
progressing slowly towards completion; the ab- 
beys are more frequently in ruins, but a ruin 
which is perhaps more eloquent of former gran- 
deur than if we saw them in all their pomp of pride 
and power. It is a marvel to the traveller who 
visits Fountains Abbey and measures its Vast 
area, its gigantic towers and wide quadrangle of 
chapels; or Roslyn, with its wealth of rich and 



OLD CATHEDRALS AND ABBEYS, 373 

exquisitely beautiful ornamentation; or Tintern, 
situated as they are, far off from cities or large 
towns : from whence came resources adequate to 
their immense cost % They were the outgrowth of 
those feudal ages so different from this that we 
can scarcely fully appreciate them ; and yet we 
have some things in common with them. The 
common law, which is co-extensive with the 
English lauguage, had its root in the feudal 
system. 

In these dim, vast, shadowy cathedrals, as in a 
solitary primeval forest on the Mississippi or the 
Columbia, the sentiment of religion has always 
been and is still awakened. As you enter a long, 
obscure, darkened nave, with the grand, lofty 
columns on either side disappearing far above in 
the night of the arched roof and vaulted dome, 
far down the nave a golden cross and crucifix, 
disclosed by the purple light of colored glass 
crowning the dome aided by lighted chandeliers: 
and the great east window, luminous with 
gold, emerald, amethyst, and crowded with 
radiant figures of saints and angels, patriarchs 
and prophets, suggest to the imaginative wor- 
shipper that he is looking through the win- 
dows of heaven. In these temples you always 
see a few devout, sincere and humble worshippers 
reverently kneeling near the shrines. After 
which, leaning against a column, contemplating 
this scene, I have heard, first as from far away, 



374 0LD CATHEDRALS AND ABBEYS. 

the low, solemn, deep tones of the organ; then a 
change, and the music wonld express sadness and 
sorrow, then humble, earnest prayer, the sob of 
penitence; then it would express pardon and 
peace, the hope, the assurance of immortality, 
the reunion with the loved and the lost; and then 
the glorious anthem of praise and reverence and 
hallelujah to God the Father; and the grand or- 
gan now sending forth notes so deep and power- 
ful as to make the great temple tremble, the choir 
of young boys all joining, making altogether, 
with all these surroundings, a majestic harmony, 
a touching melody, more effective than any other 
ever heard. 

As the music dies away, you may advance and 
study the marble effigies of cardinals and arch- 
bishops, saints and crusaders, couched on granite 
or porphyry, and at rest as they supposed for 
all time. But their names are often utterly oblit- 
erated and lost ; and as you pass on and look 
more carefully at details, you see monuments 
and crosses in bronze and marble, crucifixes, 
jewels, mosaics and precious stones — each window 
a history in colored glass. All of sacred history . 
here sparkles in revelations read without letters 
or books. These men of the Middle Ages, whom 
we sometimes call barbarians, knew well how to 
impress the affections and take captive the heart 
through the senses. They reached the heart 
through the eye and ear ; and the poor unlet- 



OLD CATHEDRALS AND ABBEYS. 375 

tered peasant from the Black Forest who entered 
Strasburg, the swineherd who walked into York 
Minster, the artisan who frequented Westminster 
Abbey, were impressed with the religious senti- 
ment of the place, and, however stolid, dimly- 
felt that the place where he stood was no other 
than the house of God. 

These are among the objects that impress a 
thoughtful American more than all else in Europe. 
If I could create or import into the United States 
any two of the objects of greatest interest I have 
ever seen abroad, they should be, not the Venus 
de Medici, nor the Apollo, nor any great picture 
or statue, but the grand old Lincoln Cathedral 
and the Abbey of the Fountains. But we shall 
never see in our country Gothic architecture, 
Greek sculpture, nor Italian paintings of the old 
masters — therefore let us not attempt poor copies ; 
let us simply do in our own way what we can, 
and we shall also in our day and generation 
achieve things worthy of being remembered. 

What has American genius or the genius of 
man accomplished which equals or surpasses the 
old cathedrals % Is it the magnificent ship, the 
" staunch and strong and goodly vessel," 

" That shall laugh at all disaster, 
And with wave and whirlwind wrestle ?" 

This is indeed a grand achievement ; and when 
we see such a structure, framed " with perfect 



376 OLD CATHEDRALS AND ABBEYS. 

symmetry," and " wonderful for form and 
strength," whether with sail all set she courts 
the wild waves and safely plows the wintry sea, 
speeding along through the rain and the dark, 
or whether with steam she triumphs over both 
wind and sea, she furnishes a proud exhibition 
of human skill and handicraft. 

But there stands the old cathedral. Yery old, 
very wonderful, a lyric poem in stone, its lofty 
towers and spires pointing to the mysterious 
heaven to which all aspire. When we look upon 
it, we must still realize that while man's achieve- 
ments for this world's ends — as in the ship, the 
bridge, the railway, the telegraph — are grand ; 
yet the Cathedral, the effort to build a temple fit 
for the worship of his Creator, is sublime. What 
a world of romance Sir Walter Scott has thrown 
around Melrose and Dry burgh. 

The old cathedrals and chapels and abbeys of 
Great Britain are in a more simple and severe 
style than those on the continent, and yet there 
is one in cold, far north Scotland, which is per- 
haps the most superlatively beautiful of all — I 
mean Roslyn. But the land that produced 
Burns and Scott might well furnish the genius to 
conceive and execute such works as Melrose and 
Roslyn. As you come towards the middle of 
Europe, you find perhaps the most perfect speci- 
mens of the Gothic in Strasburg and Freiburg, 
and in some of the old cathedrals in France; yet 



INFLUENCE OF CATHOLICITY. 377 

Milan fully equals, if it does not surpass them 
all. If this cathedral may not be justly pro- 
nounced the most sublime structure ever erected 
by man, it is only because it is so exquisitely 
beautiful, with its perfection of detail, that the 
sense of sublimity is modified by the enjoyment 
of its beauty. 



INFLUENCE OF CATHOLICITY ON CIVIL 
LIBERTY. 

Of the old Catholic republics, two yet remain, 
standing monuments of the influence of Catho- 
licity on free institutions. The one is imbosomed 
in the Pyrenees of Catholic Spain, and the other 
is perched on the Apennines of Catholic Italy. 
The very names of Andorra and San Marino are 
enough to refute the assertion, that Catholicity 
is opposed to republican governments. Both 
of these little republics owed their origin directly 
to the Catholic religion. That of Andorra was 
founded by a Catholic bishop, and that of San 
Marino by a Catholic monk, whose name it bears. 
The bishops of Urgel have been, and are still, 
the protectors of the former ; and the Eoman 
Pontiffs of the latter. 

Andorra has continued to exist, with few polit- 
ical vicissitudes, for more than a thousand years : 



378 INFLUENCE OF CATHOLICITY. 

while San Marino dates back her history more 
than fifteen hundred years, and is therefore not 
only the oldest republic in the world, but perhaps 
the oldest government in Europe. The former, 
to a territory of two hundred English square miles, 
has a population of fifteen thousand ; while the 
latter, with half the population, has a territory 
of twenty-one square miles. Both of them are 
governed by officers of their own choice ; and 
the government of San Marino in particular, is 
conducted on the most radically democratic prin- 
ciples. 

The legislative body consists of the Council of 
Sixty, one-half of whom at least are, by law, to 
be chosen from the plebeian order ; and of the 
Arrengo, or general assembly, summoned under 
extraordinary circumstances, in which all the fam- 
ilies of the republic are to be represented. The 
executive is lodged in two capitanei regyenti, 
or governors, chosen every six months, and hold- 
ing jurisdiction, one in the city of San Marino, 
and the other in the country ; — so jealous are 
these old republicans of placing power in the 
hands of one man ! The judiciary department is 
managed by a commissary, who is required by 
law to be a foreigner — a native of some other 
part of Italy — in order that, in the discharge 
of his office, he may be biassed by no undue pre- 
judices, resulting from family connections. 

When Addison visited the republic in 1700, he 



INFLUENCE OF CATHOLICITY. 379 

" scarcely met with any in the place who had not 
a tincture of learning." He also saw the collec- 
tion of the laws of the republic, published in 
Latin, in one volume folio, under the title : " Sta- 
tuta illustrissimse reipublicse Sancti Marini." 
When Napoleon, at the head of his victorious 
French troops, was in the neighborhood of San 
Marino, in 1797, he paused, and sent a congratula- 
tory deputation to the republic, " which expressed 
the reverence felt by her young sister, France, for 
so ancient and free a commonwealth, and offered, 
besides an increase of territory, a present of four 
pieces of artillery." The present was gratefully 
accepted, but the other tempting offer was wisely 
declined ! 

The good old Catholic times produced patriots 
and heroes, of whom the present age might well 
be proud. William Wallace, defeated at Bus- 
cenneth, fell a martyr to the liberty of his native 
Scotland in 1305. Robert Bruce achieved what 
Wallace had bled for not in vain — the indepen- 
dence of his country. He won, in 1314, the de- 
cisive battle of Bannockburn, which resulted in 
the expulsion of the English invaders from Scot- 
land. Are the Hungarians, and Poles, and Span- 
iards, and French, who fought for centuries the 
battles of European independence against the 
Saracens and Turks, to be set down as enemies 
of freedom % Are the brave knights of St. John, 
who so heroically devoted themselves for 



380 INFLUENCE OF CATHOLICITY. 

the liberty of Europe at Rhodes and at Malta, 
also to be ranked with the enemies of human 
rights? 

We might bring the subject home to our own 
times and country, and show that the Catholics 
of the colony of Maryland were the first to pro- 
claim universal liberty, civil and religious, in 
North America ; that in the war for independence 
with Protestant England, Catholic France came 
generously and effectually to our assistance ; that 
Irish and American Catholics fought side by side 
with their Protestant fellow-citizens in that event- 
ful war; that the Maryland line which bled so 
freely at Camden with the Catholic Baron de 
Kalb, while Gates and his Protestant militia were 
consulting their safety by flight, was composed 
to a great extent of Catholic soldiers ; that there 
was no Catholic traitor during our revolution ; 
that the one who perilled- most in signing the 
Declaration of Independence, and who was the 
last survivor of that noble band of patriots, was 
the illustrious Catholic, Charles Carroll of Car- 
rollton ; that half the generals and officers of our 
revolution — Lafayette, Pulaski, Count de Grasse, 
Rochambeau, De Kalb, Kosciuszko, and many 
others were Catholics ; and that the first commo- 
dore appointed by Washington to form our infant 
navy, was the Irish Catholic — Barky. These 
facts, which are but a few of those which might 
be adduced, prove conclusively that Catholicity 



INFL UENCE OF CA THOLICITT. 381 

is still, what she was in the middle ages, the 
steadfast friend of free institutions. 

To conclude : Can it be that Catholicity, which 
saved Europe from barbarism and a foreign 
Mohammedan despotism — which in every age has 
been the advocate of free principles, and the 
mother of heroes and of republics — which origi- 
nated Magna OTiarta and laid the foundation of 
liberty in every country in Europe — and which 
in our own day and country has evinced a similar 
spirit — is the enemy of free principles? We 
must blot out the facts of history, before we can 
come to any such conclusion ! If history is at all to 
be relied on we must conclude, that the in- 
fluence of the Catholic Church has been fa- 
vorable to Civil Liberty. —Dr. Spalding. 



the end. 



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